


To Be Your Equal

by usedupshiver



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Jane Eyre Fusion, Drama, Loki Feels, Loki-centric, M/M, POV First Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-02-28 01:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 83,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2714069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedupshiver/pseuds/usedupshiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up an unwanted orphan, to become an outsider with strange powers, Loki wishes for nothing more than to find a place and a purpose in life. When he is hired to help the rather mysterious Mr. Edward Stark with his just as mysterious work, he hopes to have found both.</p><p>But nothing is ever easy, and even as Loki finds himself drawn to Stark, there might simply be too many things keeping them apart. Loki must decide what he is willing to sacrifice, and what means too much to ever give up...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Childhood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xjapanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xjapanda/gifts), [RedRavens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRavens/gifts).



> For my darling Panda, who gave this story her love as it came to be and agreed to bless it with her art. <3 And for my Doxies, who supported me when I went slightly crazy and wrote this entire thing in 23 days...  
> And for Theravenofwynter, who helped make it all so much better than it would have been without her comments.
> 
> This is an AU primarily based on the novel _Jane Eyre_ by Charlotte Brontë – and if you haven't read that masterpiece, you should. I turned the story into FrostIron with a dash of _Frozen_ , sprinkled some steampunk over it all, and this is what came out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick words on the women mentioned and appearing in this chapter, to avoid unnecessary confusion:  
> \- I have rejected Marvel's sex change of Loki's parents and instead go by mythology, meaning that Laufey is Loki's mother, and nothing else.  
> \- I have chosen not to cast Frigga as Odin's wife.

As a boy, the only thing I knew about myself was that I didn't belong.

My very first memories all involve being on the outside looking in, being different and unwanted.

I lived in a house called Ravenshead, a huge old building, narrow, high and soaring, painted a dark golden color never allowed to be covered by dirt or vines. It was nestled in the middle of wide, tidy gardens full of apple trees and the chilling cries of peacocks, and beyond that surrounded by rich fields and pastures. But I knew from a very young age that even though I lived there, the golden house was not my home. The master of Ravenshead had taken me in and let me stay, for reasons then unknown to me, but I knew I was not really welcome.

The room I could call mine was in a hallway out of the way of the rest of the household, where no-one would have to come across me by accident. Servants looked after me, after a fashion, made sure I was warm and fed and clothed, but with no more care and warmth than they would have spent on a dog they had been given responsibility for. My earliest years I still spent mostly in the company of the servants, even though I knew I was not one of them. How I knew, I cannot say now. Perhaps it was because they all had chores to tend to, even the youngest, while nothing was ever asked or expected of me, except to keep out of the way.

I was something in between. I had no place. Not part of the family I knew ruled the house, not part of the staff tending to them and the estate. So I had no idea what I was, or even who I was.

I knew my mother's name before I knew my own, even though I only ever heard it in secret whispers among the servants. Her name was never spoken openly at Ravenshead because the master of the house, Odin, would not hear it.

_Laufey._

It was a name covered in old, hidden shame, which I knew nothing of then and couldn't understand, but could still tell was there no matter how young I was. The sideways glances my way when the name was mentioned still rubbed this strange shame off on me. Stained me with something I, as a child, had no words for.

For a long time, I was simply ”Laufey's son”, or ”Laufey's boy”. At least, that was what the servants called me when they were in a relatively good mood. When they were annoyed with me, for whatever reason, I was ”bastard”, ”brat”, or ”you little imp!”, as they swatted me away, like a fly that had been buzzing too close to their ears.

Only years later did I first hear my own name. 

_Loki._

That was what Odin called me the first time he summoned me to him, but apart from finally hearing my given name, I cannot remember what else he said to me that day. All I remember is a huge, dark figure, and a lined face glaring at me with the only eye it had, the other – or what might be left of it – hidden behind a black patch. Even though I had seen the man before, of course, I had never been this close to him, and never been the focus of his cold, searching gaze. Behind his graying beard his mouth was a tense line when his deep, dark words had run their course, and his eye narrowed in something that might have been distaste.

That kind of look was nothing new to me – I was used to shame and feeling useless – but in front of the man who held my fate in his hands, it frightened me more than the same look from the servants.

Small as I was, it looked from my place on the floor in front of him as if the ravens carved from the black wood of his chair were perched on his heavy shoulders. As if he was not a threatening enough figure on his own! Wings half raised, heavy beaks opened, the birds looked ready to fall on me, and I would see them in my nightmares for months. 

Whatever he wished to see when he called me to him that day I am sure Odin didn't find it, because I actually can remember the disappointment on his face as he finally waved me away with a sharp, angry gesture.

After that, the servants started to call me by my given name as well, although I almost wished they had kept to their old ways. They pronounced my name as if it was foreign to them, with no home on their tongues, just like I had no true home in this house.

I was always told I should be grateful, but no-one ever told me for what.

Should I be grateful for the shame I lived with, even though it was not mine and I couldn't even understand it? Or for living hidden away from the eyes and ears of the household? For not knowing more about myself than my name, and not even who had given it to me?

As the years passed, I slowly came to at least understand some of the circumstances which had brought me to Ravenshead.

Odin had been the husband of my mother's sister. My aunt was dead now, however, just like Laufey. How my mother had died no-one cared to mention, but I knew a fever had taken my aunt when I was barely two years old. I also came to understand that she had been the one to take me in, after her sister's passing, and on her deathbed had made her husband promise to let me stay, to raise me with their own son.

That was how I found out that even though I was the youngest, I was not the only child at Ravenshead. There was another boy living there as well, one who could not have been more different from me. He might have been my cousin, but there was nothing on the surface that showed Thor's tie to me by blood. 

I had always been small, even for my age, and thin and frail in build. Living in shadows and never being fed more than I needed to get by hadn't helped remedy this, and as I grew it never changed. Besides being a tiny thing, I was also very pale compared to anyone else at Ravenshead, and my jet black hair made me stand out even more. 

When I saw my cousin for the first time, he came storming into a room to blame a servant for misplacing something of his. By then I was seven or eight and he was thirteen, living in the borderlands between boy and man, but it was obvious what he would one day become. He was everything I might have expected Odin's son to be – strong and hard and full of demands. He was tall and already well built, even with the lanky look of a rapidly growing boy still clinging to his long limbs. Everything about him was gold and glory, from his tanned skin to his long hair, and his eyes flashed a clear blue under his brow.

Compared to him I more than ever looked out of place. And oh, compared to him I was! Constantly, by everyone.

That was how I came to learn that not only was it impossible to find a place in this house where I could fit in; it was also impossible for me to find a place to fit in as a human being. Once again, I was the thing in between. 

I knew I was a boy; there was never any doubt about my sex. But there was also never any doubt that I was none of the things a boy _should_ be. 

Since I was so small and slim, with fingers and features too dainty, strangers coming to the house more often than not mistook me for a girl. Even though I was dressed in pants and a shirt. Quiet, withdrawn and soft spoken as I was, the servants considered me an odd child as well, I was expected to be more like my cousin, running wild in the gardens, speaking loudly or letting my will be known by bellowing orders. I should live for the days when everyone went to the woods to hunt, even before I was old enough to be allowed to come along. But the clanging of horse shoes and the barking of dogs in the courtyard made me run away and hide, and the heads hanging by the limp, broken necks of the birds brought back home made me feel sick.

Where I should have been strong, I was weak. Where I should have been golden, I was a stark contrast of black and white. When I should have been brave and careless, I was a useless coward. My nose was often buried in a book when I should have been doing something worthwhile with my time. But what that would have been no-one would say, or perhaps they didn't know themselves.

Being the target of mocking words became an everyday thing and I came to know, in my heart, that I was not what I should be.

The few times I was in the same room as Odin, who I now knew to be my uncle by marriage if not by blood, he very rarely opened his mouth, but the look in his steely eye spoke volumes. And there was nothing but disappointment and contempt to find there.

Still, I was tolerated. As long as I kept out of the way I could keep the spot in between all set things which I had made my own, lacking a proper place. If I had been more like Thor, if I had been able to find it in me to be loud, destructive and domineering, I might have been more accepted and even liked. But I could be nothing of what I was expected to be and so all I could do was hide in the shadows.

My life, such as it was, stayed like this, until I was ten. Or at least I might have been ten; when no living person knows the exact date of your birth, it is anyone’s guess how old you really are, after all.

* * *

It was a rainy, bored day, when no-one could go outside for entertainment.

As was my personal habit, I had gone to the library, picked out a book from a shelf and hidden myself away by one of the tall windows. Sitting in the deep windowsill, with the golden curtain shielding me from the room on one side and the fading daylight on the other, I felt safe enough to lose myself in the words I was reading. Something that turned out to be a mistake.

I barely heard it when the door to the room was opened, and didn't really care. The servants often came here to dust or light a fire in the afternoon chill, and they never cared when I came or went either. When I heard heavy footsteps slowly entering the library it disturbed my concentration, however. The servants were always very light on their feet.

”Loki?”

My heart nearly stopped when I heard Thor's loud voice, even though part of me had already known it must be him. I did as best I could to hold my breath as well, so no sound would betray my hidingplace by the window. Hopefully he would not have the patience to search the room, but I didn't put too much hope into that thought, not today. He sounded bored, and when he was bored, he needed some sport to distract him. More often than not, especially when he had to keep indoors for whatever reason, the sport he found was me.

”Come out from wherever you're hiding, you little imp!” He moved again, and then the sound of his footsteps was suddenly muffled, so I knew he was in the center of the room, on the thick carpets under the tables and armchairs placed there. 

I carefully closed the book I had been reading, and hugged it to my chest, as if it somehow could protect me from what was coming.

”Freya said she saw you sneak in here earlier, so I know you're here somewhere.” His tone was harsher now, annoyed, growing more dangerous with every passing moment. “Do I have to come find you and pull you out by your hair?”

Making a pained face to myself, I knew I had to do as he told me. Because he would come and find me if he had to – he was in that sort of mood, I could tell – and when he did, he would pull me out by my hair. He had done so before, after all. Swallowing, steeling myself for what might be waiting for me on the other side of the curtain, I pushed it aside and moved to stand on the floor, as quickly as I could.

Thor was indeed standing in the middle of the room, tall and broad-shouldered, gleaming in the light from the nearby fire. He was fifteen by this time, a restless creature full of pent up anger and frustration. I barely came up to his chest when I stood up straight, and he was almost as heavy as a grown man already. His face was darkened by an angry scowl, but when he saw me emerge from the windowsill it turned into a nasty smirk. 

“I knew you were hiding in here”, he said, sounding pleased now, and he moved to sit down in the red armchair closest to where he had been standing. Casually leaning back, one of his long legs stretched out in front of him. The scowl then slowly started returning as he raised a hand to wave me closer. ”Why are you still standing there? Come here.” The hand pointed at a spot on the carpet right by his left armrest.

I knew I should just obey and make things easier on myself but inside of me, my heart was burning cold with anger. Hatred even, perhaps. It had been stepped on one too many times, and it would no longer have it. There flickered a frozen flame in there now, one which I had never felt before. It both frightened me and empowered me, in equal measure.

”What do you want?” The pained resistance was in my voice, I could hear it, and I knew he could too. The way his mouth stretched into a grin told me so.

”No manners!” He scoffed. ”I'm 'young master Thor' to you, and you should just do as told. Now. What have you got there, thiefling? Come stand here, and show me.”

I made myself walk over to the place he once more indicated by his side, and very reluctantly handed him the book.

Thor studied the cover of the heavy volume for a few quiet moments before looking at me again. ”You have no right to touch these books. They are our property, as is everything else in this house. You should know better.”

Biting my tongue, I bowed my head to study my worn shoes on the richly colored patterns of the carpet. Part of me wished to protest, give the argument that no-one but me ever read these books anyway, so what harm could it do? Knowing I would only make matters worse, I swallowed the words back down.

”Well, obviously you don't”, he continued, when he got no answer from me, ”so I will have to teach you. Go stand by the wall there.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his arm come up to point at the wall behind me. Scared and confused, I turned to do as told, even though I should have known from the beginning what he was planning to do. Still, I walked all the way to the wall, where I turned to face him and found him sitting straight, on the edge of the chair. It was not until I saw him raise the book he was still holding, aiming for me, that I understood what he was going to do, and when I finally did, I wasn't fast enough to completely evade the thing as it came flying and flapping at me.

Instead of hitting my face, as had likely been his intention, the bulk of the heavy book hit my shoulder. A sharp corner of it cut my cheek. Screaming in pain and angered fear I fell to the floor. When I next opened my tightly shut eyes, Thor was leaning over me, the same grin still plastered on his face. His hands moved to grab me by the collar, probably to pull me up for another attempt at hitting his target, but before he reached me something happened. Something neither of us had ever expected.

Driven by a strange, new instinct, and that frozen flame in my heart, I threw my hands up between us. I never thought there was anything I could do to stop him, since he was so much bigger and stronger than me, and I was already half crippled, curled up in pain on the floor. But I was wrong.

From the palms of my hands, shards of ice flew at Thor, out of nothing.

With a startled shout he stumbled half a step back to stare at me, every trace of the grin wiped away. Now his mouth had fallen open, his blue eyes were very wide. I'm certain I was wearing a matching expression and it was hard to say which one of us was more shocked. But he recovered first, going to reach for me again.

”You will regret that, you foul little -”

”No!” With my protest, hate, fear and anger all rushed out of my fingers in a frosty, crackling stream of sharp, icy spikes. They came at him in a torrent from my hands, stabbed up at him from the floor between us when the ice and frost from my hands fell there, and he had to raise his arms in defense instead of grabbing at me. Even as he backed away, the knifelike shards and sheaths of ice came after him. The cold seemed to have a mind of its own, driven by my vengeance and fear.

Now it was Thor who screamed as the serrated edges cut his forearm open, making it worse for himself as he lashed out in an attempt to hit what was hurting him away. I saw a sharp spike connect with his fist, and he bellowed in agony, finally pulling his hands to himself and turning away, leaving the room in a rush.

Alone, I stared around me in fascinated horror.

With my back to the wall, I was sitting in the center of a semicircle of wickedly sharp, sinister points and shards of ice, all aiming for where Thor had been standing over me. Beyond this, the floor of half the room was covered in frost, painting strange patterns over wood and carpet. Tilting my head back, I saw the same patterns travel up the wall behind me.

As I watched, snowflakes came slowly falling from the ceiling.

I heard myself make a whimpering little noise, a blend of fear and amazement at what I had unwittingly created.

That was when the door to the library was once more opened, this time with enough force that it hit the wall on the inside with a loud, resounding crash. When I turned my head and found my uncle standing in the doorway, I was not surprised. Odin stared at me where I sat, in my icy cage. At first there was disbelief on his face, which was strangely pale, but it was quickly replaced by rage, bringing color back to his cheeks.

”What have you done?” His voice was a biting growl through clenched teeth.

I had no answer to give him; I honestly did not know.

And then he came at me, with long strides. Part of me wondered if the ice would protect me again, but the burning cold flame was nearly extinguished now, and there was nothing left to stand between him and me. Unhesitatingly, Odin leaned in over the sharp edges and grabbed me more or less by the scruff of my neck. He lifted me out of there as if I had been weightless, and half carried, half dragged me from the library.

”I should have known better than to allow a creature like you to live under my roof.” It was still a growl coming out of him, as he pulled me along the corridors, up the stairs, towards my hidden away room. ”What sort of monster you mother must have lain with to spawn you, I never wish to know. Gods know I never expected gratitude from your kind, but that you would repay my care this way...” He barked something that was half bitter laugh, half angry outburst. ”Attacking your betters, with some foul sorcery! No, I will not have it!”

It was likely more words than he had ever spoken to me in my entire life before. Every single one of them was a blow, and still he was not yet done with me.

When we reached my room he banged open the door just as hard as the one in the library, stepped in, and threw me on the bed, forcefully enough that I rolled over the mattress and hit the wall on the other side. The pained whine that escaped me met no sympathy and when I moved to sit up, he roared at me, like an enraged animal, until I pressed myself back against the wall again. Shivering, terrified, I looked up at the hulking, dark shape towering over me, making my room seem even smaller.

”Promises be damned!” Odin's only eye narrowed as he stared back. ”I will not have you in my house! Until I know what to do with you, you will remain in this room.” He raised a single, thick finger in warning. ”Do not test me! One step outside these four walls, and I send you straight to your cursed mother!”

A snarl, a turn, another slam of the door, and I was alone.

For some time, I stayed where he had left me, petrified. Then the tears came, with a strangled sob that hurt my throat. I moved to crawl into the corner of my bed, pulled the covers and blankets up around me as my only protection, crying so hard I could barely pull a breath between the choking sobs.

When the tears finally ran dry, more from pure exhaustion than anything else, it was nearly dusk. In the faint light falling in through my little window I could just make out the pale shapes of my hands as I held them up in front of me. They looked the same as they always had, not giving away any hint of what they had done in the library.

”What am I?” The white palms I whispered the question to had no answer to give me.

I pulled my legs to my chest, hugged my arms around myself, and watched the darkness come closer. Usually, I feared the monsters I was certain were hiding in the dark, like most children do, but this night was different. This night, the monster was already in the bed, hiding inside me. 

Without me ever knowing it, that was where it had always been.

* * *

I don't know how long I had been asleep when a soft knock on my door woke me up again. Blinking my eyes open, I found that I had let myself slide down in the bed during the night, stretched out under the blanket, and I must have slept a long time. Through the window, I could see a sky that was still gray, but filled with daylight.

Before I had woken up all together and managed to give a response, the door to my room was opened and a servant girl walked in. In one hand she held a candle stick with a lit candle, in the other a bowl. She placed both on my nightstand, without giving me so much as a glance, and then returned to the door, leaving. It wasn't until she was gone that I realized she had not come alone to my chamber.

Just inside the open door stood a man I had never seen before. He had rumpled, dark hair falling down his forehead, brows pulled down low over just as dark eyes. His face was sturdy, and seemed open. There was something in the way he held himself that had made me not notice him, as if he was folded in on himself, hiding in plain sight. His clothes seemed just as rumpled as his hair, creased and untidy, as if he had slept in them and just been woken up. 

Like I had in mine, come to think of it...

The man was holding a black leather bag in one hand, and I was not surprised when he introduced himself as ”Doctor Banner”, in a deep but soft voice, walking into the room, and stopping a couple of steps from the bed.

”No-one told me your name, I'm afraid?”

Should I tell him? I had never been asked my name before, and I didn't know how to answer. Could there be some danger in giving him my name? Was there a reason he hadn't been told before coming here? In the end, not finding any answers, I gave in and told him.

”Loki.”

”Well, then.” He gave me a small smile, not showing any teeth, walking all the way up to me. ”They called me here to take care of Thor”, he explained as he sat down on the side of my bed. ”When they explained his injuries had been caused by another child in the house, I asked to see you too.” Soft fingertips examined the swollen wound on my cheek, but when I winced he pulled them back, to merely look at me in silence for a few moments.

”I never knew there was another child living at Ravenshead”, he continued, sounding curious now. ”Are you Thor's brother?”

At that I just shook my head, quickly.

”No? What, then?”

”Cousin.” I had to force the word out. How I wished that it hadn't been so! That there had been no ties of blood what so ever between me and my tormentor.

”I see.” Doctor Banner leaned back then, out of the way. ”Could you sit up for me, Loki? I need to see your face to clean this cut properly.”

No-one had ever asked me to do anything before. Ordered me, pushed and shoved, yes, but never politely asked. As if I had a right to refuse. I blinked at him, bewildered, but then made a little nod against the pillow before I moved the blanket aside and pushed myself up, finally sitting with my legs crossed under me.

The doctor got a piece of cloth and wet it in the bowl of water the servant girl had brought for him. With a hand around my jaw, to hold my head still, he cleaned my wounded cheek. The warm water stung, and he had to rub at the torn, tender skin to get the dried blood off, but I didn't protest it, just sat still and watched the focused look on his face as he worked, the frown of concentration and concern over his mild eyes. It was nothing I was used to being on the receiving end of, and even though it hurt, I somehow didn't want it to end.

When he was satisfied with the cleaning, he put the cloth in the bowl, and reached down into his bag for a glass jar. A strong, spicy smell filled the room when he opened it, and the salve he took from it to smear over my wound first stung and burned me, then warmed, and finally felt cool and soothing.

As he put the jar away again, I knew he had done what he had come to do, and that he was about to leave. Part of me wanted to cling to his arm under the creased jacket, hold on to the only glimpse of caring kindness I had ever come close to, but nothing in my experience told me it would be welcome. So I sat still, waiting for the inevitable, when he, to my surprise, remained sitting on my bed, watching me.

”How old are you, Loki?”

”Ten.” I didn't hesitate to answer now. Anything, if it would just keep him there a moment longer. 

”Small for your age”, he pointed out, as if it would have been something new to me. ”And Thor? He would be, what, fifteen by now?” He paused to see me nod. ”Taller than me already. In a few years, he will be broader as well. Just like his father.”

I looked down at my own skinny legs, and clenched my teeth. Again, saying it as if I did not know.

”I wonder”, I heard him mutter, as if to himself, ”how it is that he was the one hurt worse, when it by anyone’s guess should have been you? I wonder why no-one would meet my eyes when I asked what had made those cuts on his forearm?”

Whatever I had expected him to say, to think, to ask, this was as far from it as it could possibly get. I raised my head again, felt my mouth fall open as I met his eyes again. Still, they held a focused concern I had never before known, and I was overwhelmed by a need to tell him, tell someone, about the horrors from the library. Someone who might listen.

A deeply frightened part of me also hoped for someone who could explain what had happened to me.

”My ice cut Thor”, I blurted out, before I could give myself time to reconsider.

Doctor Banner frowned, clearly confused. ”Your ice?”

”I never meant to do it!” Now I was reaching for his arm, unable to stop myself, holding on to him. All the while fully expecting him to shake me off, brush me aside, but he never did. He just leaned in closer, listening. ”He threw a book at me, he was going to do it again, and I wanted to stop him. That is all I ever wanted! I never meant to hurt him!”

Perhaps that was a lie? To this day, I am not sure what my intentions had been, summoning the ice I never knew would come when I called. At least, it was not mostly a lie. I had wanted, more than anything else, to stop Thor from causing me any more harm.

”Calm down, Loki.” Banner's other hand came to rest over one of mine, but to press it closer to his arm, not push it away. ”Tell me, slowly, what happened.”

I made myself pull a deep breath, and as clearly as I could, I told him what had transpired in the library the previous afternoon. He listened closely, asked a few questions when all my words failed me, and in the end he gave me another of those closed-lipped smiles.

”I understand”, he said, slowly. ”It was an accident. And one you would prefer never happened again, is that not so?”

I nodded, quickly.

”Perhaps I know someone who could help you.” He tilted his head, and his dark hair almost fell into his eyes. ”But of course, your uncle would have to give his permission.”

Swallowing, I nodded again, slowly this time. Odin had said he wanted me gone, so perhaps if this help was to be found somewhere else, he would be just as happy to let me go as I would be to leave?

”Get some more rest now, child.” The doctor pulled up my blanket then, nodding at me to lie down again, and I reluctantly let go of his arm to do so. He tucked the blanket around me, and then ruffled gentle fingers through my black hair. ”I will see you again, I think, and soon too.”

Picking up his bag from the floor, he walked out, and closed the door behind him.

He had left the candle burning on my nightstand, and the light from the single flame was almost enough to light my little room, scattering the shadows the gray daylight left in the corners. Still warm from the tender care, and still feeling the traces his fingertips had followed over my scalp, I fell asleep quickly.

* * *

For three days after that I was left alone in my room. Servants came with my meals, made sure I was clean, as well as my room, but they left as soon as they had seen to their chores. Most of my time I spent in bed, either sleeping or curled up in my corner, or on my knees on the bench by the window, where I could see the sloping, western part of the gardens, and beyond that rolling meadows where black-and-white livestock grazed in the summer. Now, when the grass was brown and dead, the herd was nowhere in sight. 

Some time after breakfast on the fourth day I was washed and dressed and brought to the parlor where Odin was waiting, standing by the window with his back to me and the room. I stayed where the servant had left me, didn't dare move so much as a muscle. His wrath had been a terrifying thing the last time he had spoken to me and I didn't want to wake it again. For a long time he left me waiting, and I almost started wondering if he even knew I had been brought to him before he suddenly broke the silence.

”Doctor Banner spoke to me of a place better suited for the likes of you.” Odin turned to study me with a severe expression, but did not leave his place by the window. ”Where they would know how to deal with you. Make you see sense. It is obvious that nothing I have ever done has been enough to manage it.”

Even then I wondered what he had really ever done to help better me, but I stayed silent.

He left the window but still did not come towards me. Instead he sat down in an armchair by the fireplace, gazing into the flames, his heavy shoulders slumped under the dark jacket. ”I never wanted you in my house”, he told the fire, as I watched his profile against the flickering light. ”Something born out of lust and shame and deceit has to be made up of the same parts. My late wife... She would not listen. But I certainly have been proven more right than I ever cared to be.” Odin's face, cast in shadow, turned to me then. ”At best, I thought you useless. But that you should turn on me and mine in this way? That is far below anything I expected, even from you.”

I felt the icy fire ignite in my heart again at these harsh, accusing words. Trying to swallow it down, I stared at my feet.

”Doctor Banner will be back in the morning, to take you away to Starwood”, I heard him continue. ”And my only regret is that I did not send you away a long time ago. That you would have the opportunity to harm my son before I did what I knew was right.”

With every passing moment it was more difficult to stay quiet, the frost in me unwilling to be kept down.

”Leave me, Loki. I have had enough of you, you little ingrate.”

I had actually turned and started walking out of the room when the whiteblue flame in me flared too burning cold to hold back anymore. I stopped, turned back, and stared at the dark shape by the fire.

”I have nothing to be grateful for, uncle.” The steadiness of my voice surprised me, and the quick way his head snapped toward me made me think it had surprised Odin as well. 

”Is that so?” He was growling again. ”I take in a pitiful creature in an attempt to turn it into something worthwhile, and you have nothing to thank me for?”

”You would have wished me to be more like Thor, then?” There was really no need to ask, I knew it to be true.

I had always known that if I had been large and blundering, unruly, I would have been accepted. After all, Thor broke the glass in the greenhouse, threw stones at the peacocks, ruined the furniture with his muddy boots and yelled at the servants, and he was nothing put praised and loved. If I had been like that, the people of Ravenshead would have understood me, known how to handle me. As it was, they did not.

”I would.”

”Then I am glad I disappointed you.” My little hands turned into fists as I fought to hold the ice back. I felt it crackle and spread over my curled up palms, but it stayed there, at least, slowly melting on my skin. ”He was the one to harm me. All I did was defend myself, yet I am the one hated and punished.”

”Is ingratitude not enough? You would add lies to your long list of faults?” He stood and turned fully to me, but he stayed by the chair. I could see nothing of his face, while he could see me clearly in the light falling from the fire behind him. ”My son saw you steal from this house, and corrected you. Instead of learning your lesson, you chose to strike at one better than you.”

_”He is not better than me!”_

We both flinched at my shout. Me harder than him, because the shards of frost that escaped my control at the outburst were cutting my own palms bloody.

”You are unworthy of even comparing yourself to him.” As he spoke, Odin seemed to grow even taller, straightening up his heavy frame, casting me in shadow. ”Out of my sight. _Now!_ ”

The last roar made me jump and run, flee the room like some frightened animal scurrying back to its burrow. I had crossed the line, and I knew it.

* * *

It was so early the sun had not yet come up over the horizon when doctor Banner arrived at Ravenshead the next morning. A bleary-eyed, yawning servant helped load my only bag on the carriage, and then quickly disappeared back into the house. No-one in the household came to see me off, but I had never expected or wished that they would.

The doctor helped me into the carriage, gave me a blanket to wrap myself in to keep off the lingering cold of the night in the drafty vehicle, and then knocked on the wall to let the driver know we were ready to leave. I heard him snap the reins, urge the horses on with a soft call, then the carriage lurched forward and we were leaving. In the predawn light it was hard to see much of the house as we rolled away, but I felt no need for a last view. All I wanted was to forget, and never return.

Of course, it did not take Banner long to discover my cut and scratched palms, but he asked no questions. He simply used some of his drinking water and a handkerchief to clean me up again, waving aside my protests that the blood would ruin the fine cloth, and applied more of the salve he had used on my face before.

After that, we traveled in silence for a long time. I drifted in and out of sleep, tired and bored, lulled by the rumble of wheels and rocked by the movements of the seat under me, until we stopped for a meal at a small, nearly deserted inn by the roadside. I was still tired, and queasy, and could not get much food down before it felt like it might all come back up. Banner made no comment, but instead asked the innkeeper to pack some of the bread and cheese for me to eat later.

Back on the road, I was by now too restless to drift off to sleep again. In my mind I was turning over the strange, unsettling events of the last days. The quick changes my life had taken still had me reeling, but a part of me was slowly starting to feel a glimmer of hope. Yes, I was leaving behind everything I had ever known, but none of it was something I had wished to keep anyway. Whatever it was that awaited me at the end of my journey, might be a chance at something new.

”Doctor?” I turned from the grayish brown fields rolling by outside, and turned to watch his heavy, honest face.

”Yes, Loki?” His friendly voice made me dare to continue speaking.

”Would you tell me more about Starwood? What sort of place is it?”

”Of course.” My questions made him look as if he was blaming himself for not thinking of doing this before. ”Once it was an orphanage, and nothing more. One where parents would often choose to leave children with... strange traits. Abilities they could not explain. Or control.”

His words made me sit up straighter in the seat, listening with rapt attention now. Banner gave me one of his usual closed-lipped smiles when he noticed my reaction.

”Yes, children just like you”, he confirmed. ”And just like you, some of those children could be dangerous – without ever meaning to be! - simply because they knew nothing of their own ability. So, the orphanage turned from a simple home into a school. A place where they could be taught control. Honing their skills, to put them to good use.”

I was fascinated. And even more curious by the moment. ”How did you know this place existed, doctor Banner?”

The smile turned a bit tighter then, but he still answered me. ”It was where I grew up.”

”Oh.” It was all I could get out through the questions gathering in my mouth, wanting to spill over, but I could see in his dark eyes that I had to hold them back. Never would I have guessed that Banner was a man with a secret. 

That was how I came to learn that a man's front does not necessarily say anything about what he hides on the inside.

* * *

Starwood could not have been more different from Ravenshead.

It was a low building hidden in a small valley, where a brook passed by through the surrounding forest. The wooden walls were painted a light shade of gray, and in the rapidly fading afternoon sun it glowed in its nest of shadows. Already we could see lamps being lit behind the windows as the carriage came to a rattling halt on the driveway.

I had expected doctor Banner to leave me and my heavy bag to simply travel back where he had come from. Instead, he picked up the bag I could never have carried on my own and led me to the front door of the building, his hand large and warm between my shoulder blades as he guided me up the steps. He stopped, knocked so hard on the door I could hear the sound echo back from the room inside, and waited. We did not have to wait long before the door was pulled open, to show a woman standing in front of us instead.

She was the tallest woman I had ever seen, and her straight posture and pulled back shoulders made her seem even taller than she was. Her thick hair, a wavy blend of gold and silver, was braided and gathered around her head, making it seem like she wore a crown. And I would not have thought it wrong if she had. The simple, gray dress she wore did nothing to take away from the regal way she carried herself. But it was still the look on her face I was captured by the most. Faintly lined by age, it was still beautiful, soft and sweet, and her eyes were kindly bright as they took in the sight of both of us.

”Oh, Bruce.” The woman stepped out of the door and up to the doctor, and I could see that she was even slightly taller than he was. She placed her hands in his offered ones and leaned in to kiss first his left cheek, and then his right. ”It is good to see you. It has been too long.” She drew back far enough to get a better look at his face, and frowned. ”You look tired.”

”There is no need to worry about me, Frigga.” Banner shook his head. ”I keep busy, that is all.”

”Not too busy I hope, my dear. You need your rest.” The look in her clear, bluegreen eyes was concerned. ”I hope there have been no incidents lately?”

Another headshake from the doctor. “I have everything under control, just as you taught me.”

The tall woman sighed, and something sad shifted behind the small smile returning to her lips. One that didn't show any teeth, and reminded me of the doctor's own smiles. ”What I taught you was never meant as more than a temporary solution, Bruce. Keeping part of yourself locked away is not how I would have you live your life.” She pulled his hands closer to her chest. ”We could still find a way.”

”Perhaps.” But even I, a child, could hear the doubts in his voice.

”I know you have never believed in the possibility of finding your peace, dear.” She was serious now. ”However, my offer still stands; you are always welcome back here, if you wish to try.”

”I promise to think on it.”

”That is all I ask.” With one last caress of her thumbs over the back of his fingers, the woman let Banner's hands go. Then she turned her attention to me, where I stood nearly hidden half behind the doctor’s leg. ”And this is the child you spoke of?”

Her searching eyes held mine, and I barely noticed as Banner's hands came to rest around my shoulders, placing me in front of him instead. No-one had ever studied me this intently before, taking in every part of me. It could have been intimidating, but I saw nothing harsh and no judgment in her eyes, merely interest and no small amount of curiosity.

”What is your name, little one?” Her voice was soft.

Before, I had always felt hurt and insulted to be called little, small, or anything like it. I knew it to be the truth, of course, but it was something I had been told my whole life was a flaw in me, and I hated the reminder. From her it felt different. Affectionate.

”Loki”, I answered, as steady as I could, and this time I knew there was no danger in giving away my name. A part of me wanted to address her with a title, but I had no idea what would be fitting.

”Come with me, Loki.” The hand she held out to beckon me closer was slightly wrinkled. ”I wish to speak with you, before I make up my mind about taking you in.”

My heart stuttered in my chest, and I quickly turned my head around to look up at the man behind me, searching for help. I had been so sure that I would be welcome here. Had I been wrong? Doctor Banner simply smiled at me, his large hands squeezing my shoulders tighter for a moment, and then he let me go. Finding no more help than that, I turned back. On legs that barely carried me I took a step closer to the waiting woman, and followed her into a nearby room.

It was lit by a lamp standing on a desk in the middle of the floor, but I was far too frightened and worried now to take in more than that, as the woman moved to sit down behind the desk, and gestured for me to take the chair opposite her own. Numb, I did as she wished, and then waited as she watched me in silence for a few moments, which to me felt like an eternity.

”You came here from Ravenshead?”

All I could manage was a nod. My hands were gripping the wooden armrests hard enough to hurt.

”Yesterday, I received a letter from Odin”, she continued, picking up a folded, ink-stained paper from a pile to her right, and all my worst fears flared to life. ”Your uncle, I believe?”

I wished I could tell her how there were no ties by blood between me and that man. How he hated me. How I wished she had never read what he had to say about me. But all I could do was nod once more.

”After reading his letter, I was not sure what kind of child would be coming here today.” She smoothed the paper out on the desk with slow movements, and I could see her start to raise her head, to look at me again, and I quickly lowered my own. Her next words made me relieved I had. ”He did not have many flattering things to say.”

My heart was nothing but ice, cold and brittle, coating the inside of my chest in frost. I could feel crystals of it escape through my fingertips, slipping my control, and I hurried to put my hands in my lap, trying to hide it. At the same time cursing myself for thinking, even for a second, that I would be allowed a chance at a new life. Swallowing I studied my trembling fingers.

”This letter speaks of an uncontrolled, dangerous, false and devious creature, full of hidden rage.” Her voice was serious.

The tears burning my eyes felt like they might be ice as well. I tried to blink them back, hide them. For how would tears in this moment be seen as anything but an admission of guilt? And a dark part of me could not help but think that it was all true.

Was I not out of control? Dangerous? Had I not lashed out in rage?

”But I can see none of that in front of me here, today.” Frigga's voice turned softer, gently warm, but I still didn't have the courage to face her. ”I do believe that you need to learn control, yes, but I can see you struggling for it even now, not casting it aside. And I would know it if you did. Perhaps you still are devious. Perhaps you simply hide your rage well. But I think not.”

Surprise more than anything else made me raise my head, to find her smiling at me. A smile that wavered a bit as she took in the sight of my tear filled eyes, but then still stayed in place.

Frigga stood, and slowly came to my side of the desk. She walked up to me, leaned down, and cradled my face in her hands, so that she could look straight into me. When I blinked, making the tears finally fall, her soft thumbs wiped them from my cheeks.

”You hide no rage in there, little one”, she said, and she sounded so sure of it I nearly believed her. ”You are capable of it, of course, but rage is not truly a part of your nature. However, you are strong. In ways people will never know until it is too late. But with my help, there will at least be no more accidents.”

My heart dared to begin thaw out, just slightly. ”Will you let me stay, then?” I asked her, my voice a poor little squeak of lingering fear.

”I will confirm what I see with doctor Banner.” She gave my face one last caress and then stood straight again, towering over me, but it didn't scare me now. ”Although, I doubt he would have ever brought you here if he had shared Odin's opinions.” With a last smile, she turned away. ”Wait here, little one.”

When she left the room, I sat staring down at my hands. The cuts on my palms had started to heal over already, helped by Banners soothing salve, but I knew all too well what had caused them, and the possibility of being allowed to stay was not enough to ease all my fears. More than anything I wished to prove Odin wrong. But the man had known me my whole life. He had seen me grow up, and he was sure of what I was. And what I was not. Perhaps he was right, after all? How could this woman, who had never met me before, know the truth of my flaws?

By the time Frigga returned, I was once more terrified, but one single glance at her smile was enough for me to know I would not be turned away.

I had my chance at a new life, and I hoped I would be able to use it well.

* * *

For nearly eight years I stayed at Starwood, and while those years changed my life, making me the man I am today, there is still not much to tell about that time. Proving that even significant parts of life can be dull.

Learning to control my magic took nearly half that time. Because that was what the cold, icy flame in my heart really was – magic – and I had to be taught how to reach for it, direct it, and not simply let it come rushing out of me, carried on a wave of rage or fear. Emotions were not suitable to base the use of magic on; they were wild, unfocused, and ran too deep, where they could not be seen. Instead, I had to use my mind to make the cold do what I wished for it to do, to bend to my will, not simply be a torrent of destructive defense.

It was slow work, it took a lot time and patience, which I found I did not have. Frigga, on the other hand, seemed to have an endless amount of it. She became my guiding star, my teacher, and my friend. Under her calm influence, I too became calmer, steadier, and stronger.

My new skills did prove Odin wrong, just as I had hoped they would. With control and the proper guidance I was no longer a wild, dangerous creature or a risk to myself or others. Even as I grew stronger I never harmed anyone, and I intended to never do so again, for as long as I lived. Frigga also proved to have been right about my rage; it had no true part in my nature. Now, when I no longer faced contempt and injustice at every turn, my anger faded and left me. I could not find it in me to forgive and forget, but I let go of the rage and I found calm in its place.

However, to my shame, there came a time when my choices would prove some parts of Odin's words right; I was a liar, and I could be deceptive.

I was around fifteen at the time it happened, and I had spent the day wandering the woods around the school, as I sometimes did when I felt the need to clear my head. Nothing about this day seemed different than any other, and the way I stumbled over a rock hidden under the cover of the ferns I was walking through was no different from any other clumsy fall I had ever taken in my life before. So easily distracted by thoughts and ideas, I often lost track of the world around me, and when I found myself sitting on the ground, cradling a knee lancing with pain, it was not the first time, nor would it be the last.

My pants were still whole, but the cold way something moved over my skin under them told me my knee had not been so lucky. Carefully, I rolled the leg of my pants up to find a nasty, bleeding cut under it. Wincing, I reached a hand out, gentle fingertips going to soothe the pain with a layer of soft snow. But where I had thought to see the frosty blue glow of my usual magic, a halo of something more silvery surrounded my hand instead, something I had never seen before. As I watched, the silvery threads worked themselves into my skin and flesh, knitting it all together again, making me whole. Blinking, I stared at my knee for a long time, feeling the pain fade and disappear altogether, leaving only the blood to dry and darken on my pale skin.

Just as I had done when I was a child, I raised my hand to study my fingers, but they still told me nothing of the secrets they were hiding. The difference was that this time, I wanted to keep this secret as much as they did. Healing magic was a rare and precious thing in this world. The few who held it were treasured, but they were also doomed to a life of servitude. I had seen more than one young man and woman leave Starwood to begin such a life, and we knew that unlike many others who left the school, they would never come back. The duty their magic laid upon them would inevitably swallow them whole.

Could I offer myself up for such a life?

No, I could not. Every part of me shied away from the thought, and I knew I could never let anyone know about what I had just done. Not even Frigga.

So I gathered up every glint of that silvery light I could find inside me, and I locked it away. Deep down, somewhere dark, where no-one would ever find it. And I did my very best to forget that it existed, to forget the knowledge that I had kept something valuable from the world, simply to save myself.

Instead, I did everything I could to learn how to use and control my ice, frost, snow and chill, until the day came when Frigga told me that she had nothing left to teach me.

To my best knowledge, I was seventeen then. Perhaps even eighteen. I was no longer a boy, had most definitely left childhood behind, even though the difference in my body was not as great as I would have wished it to be. Now I had come to realize that I would always be small, slight, and frail, and even though I ought to have known this before now, it was still a painful insight. There had always been some measure of hope in my heart that I would one day grow to fill the shape I had been taught I should fit. To grow tall, wide of shoulders, with strong arms, long legs, all power.

I never did.

Even though my limbs were long and slim, I was short for a man, and my dainty build made me seem even smaller. My hands and feet were just as slender and delicate as the rest of me. The still just as pale face had lines far too fine for a male, and any growth of beard eluded me, but I was still denied the beauty I somehow felt would have been a fitting counter to the gifts I had not been given. Any truly masculine features had been withheld from me, save the basic shape of a man, and on top of it, I looked so simple and plain under my contrasting colors. So I let my black hair grow long, to hide my uneven, pallid face behind it, and pretended not to care when shirts and jackets never fit my narrow shoulders.

Still, inside this body, caught in between as always, a force was growing which is designed to carry us all into the life we are meant to live. Restlessness filled my days and nights alike. I paced my room instead of sleeping, like a caged animal. I turned unfocused during my training, and even the books I loved could no longer hold my interest. It was a pain, but I had no idea how to remedy this.

As always, it was Frigga who came to guide me. She found me by the brook, where I was passing the time touching an idle fingertip to the surface of the passing water, watching it turn to sheets of ice, skipping away from me on the current.

”When will you be leaving, Loki?”

The sound of her voice surprised me, and I quickly go to my feet to face her, confused. ”Leaving?”

She came down the slope to stand with me by the rushing water, babbling against the stones. ”I can see it in your eyes, my dear, as I have seen it in the eyes of all my students. You are no longer a child, and the world is calling.” Her head tilted to the side and her gold-and-silver hair, falling free around her straight shoulders this day, moved in the breeze. ”It is the way it should be.”

The moment she spoke the words, I knew them to be true. They also broke my heart, as every child's heart must be broken, for them to be free.

”I don't want to leave you”, I told her, frankly, still clinging on to what I inside knew was a part of my life that was already over.

”And I would happily keep you, little one.” Frigga smiled, and I once more wondered why I did not mind her calling me that, why I never had. Perhaps it was because I truly was her 'little one', and always would be? She was the closest thing to a mother I had ever known, after all.

”Why do you say I should leave, then?”

”Because it would be beyond selfish of me to have you stay.” Her warm hand came up to cup my face in the old, familiar gesture, her thumb caressing the slight hollow of my cheek. ”I have done everything I possibly can to prepare you for the world, and the world is where you are meant to be. Not hidden away here. You have a purpose to fill, Loki.”

Frowning, I searched her clear eyes and soft features. ”What purpose?” Inside, the dark, hidden part of me was wondering if she could see the purpose I knew I should have, but was denying the world still.

”I do not pretend to know”, she said, and slowly let go of my face, to place her arm around my shoulders, leading me back to the house. ”But I know that you will never find it here at Starwood. This is not your place to shine.”

I sighed under her arm, glancing up at her through the tresses of my own hair. She believed I would shine, if I but found the right place – I was not so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (And go and give some love to [XJapanda](http://xjapanda.tumblr.com/post/105381857919/for-the-first-chapter-of-to-be-your-equal-by) for her lovely art! <3)


	2. A Place and a Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A huge thank you goes out to my beta, [TheRavenOfWynter](http://theravenofwynter.tumblr.com/), who helps me make this story better than it would be otherwise.)

The first look at what was to become my new home, I got from the window of the old, worn carriage sent to bring me there from Starwood.

Ironthorn Hall was an ancient place, all made of heavy, gray stone, solid and hard, and just as intimidating and almost hostile as its name hinted at. It had obviously been built to withstand invasions and battles. The windows were narrow, set deep into thick walls, and most of them were dark now. The building wasn't very tall, but wide and still imposing, and all of it was crowned by crenellations. The harsh impression of the building in itself was somewhat softened by the gardens surrounding it, even now when the cold made the trees bare and the grass was a muddy brown. At least the ivy covering a large part of the house was still green. Behind it, a forest reached dark, twisted branches to the pale winter sky. 

As the carriage rattled on along the frozen road, I reached into a pocket of the all new and dark green jacket I was wearing, and carefully retrieved a letter I had, by now, read often enough to know by heart. Nervousness made me read the words one more time, in hope of preparing myself for what waited for me in that forbidding place.

_Loki,_  
 _I was pleased to receive your reply. You do indeed seem to fit every requirement for the position, and the letter of recommendation from Starwood is of course a merit of considerable weight._  
 _Should you agree to the aforementioned salary, you are most welcome to join me at Ironthorn Hall, to take up your new employment. I shall send a carriage to Starwood in three day's time. Any and all questions you might still have will be answered upon you arrival._  
 _I wish you a pleasant journey._  
 _E. Jarvis_

I studied the precise script forming the name of my new employer, and wondered what sort of man he might turn out to be, as the master of this house. The 'aforementioned salary' had been far beyond anything I could have ever thought to ask for, and Frigga had been happy to recommend me, even though the details of the work I would be asked to do had been few. All I knew was that this Mr. Jarvis had been searching for someone skilled in the manipulation of cold and ice, and that I was suitable for the position.

When the carriage came to a halt on the driveway, I shook myself from my wandering thoughts. I had never even noticed when it had entered the gardens. Now I put the letter back in my pocket and straightened my jacket again, making sure the high, straight collar was not folded down around my neck, and that the buttons were all fastened the right way. Arriving at a new home I would have only one chance to make a first impression, and I wanted to be certain it was a good one.

Just like when I had arrived at Starwood as a boy I had only one bag, which was holding my few changes of clothes and a couple of books Frigga had been kind enough to let me take with me when I left. It was everything I owned in this world, and when a maid in a stark white apron greeted me at the front door and asked to take it from me, to carry it to my room, I actually hesitated. Afraid to be separated from it all. But then I let her have it, as I knew I had to.

”Jarvis is expecting you”, she told me, surprising me by not adding a title to her master's name. ”He is waiting in his chambers, second door to the right.” She pointed me down a hallway, lit by a single lamp, and then turned to the stairway, disappearing up to the second floor with my bag.

Confused by this informal welcome, I, nonetheless, turned to walk down the way she had shown me. In the dim lighting I could not make out much except walls the same gray stone as the exterior, only slightly softened by old, faded tapestries, and the dark wooden floorboards under my feet. Finding the second door to the right was still simple enough, and I stopped there to place a soft knock on the heavy oak. A muted call to 'enter!' greeted me, and I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The scene in front of me was nothing like what I had expected. Warm as the room was it was small, the furniture very simple; chairs and a table by the fireplace, a wardrobe and even a rather narrow bed half hidden by brown draperies in a corner. I had not expected these to be the private chambers of my new employer, and was not sure how to react. The man sitting by his fire was tall, I could tell even when he was sitting down, straight and slim. I would guess that he was in his sixties, the lined face clean shaven, the gray hair tidy, and his dark blue eyes politely interested as he turned to me. The voice that invited me to join him by the fire was even and clear, but it was still all so very informal, and even though I did not mind this, it was a surprise.

”I hope your journey was pleasant, Loki?” He leaned over to pour a cup of tea for me as he spoke, and the gesture had me more thoroughly confused than I had been in my life. Why was he serving me? Shouldn't it be the other way around? The man didn't strike me as excentric, rather the opposite actually, but this behaviour was so very out of place that I could find no other explanation.

”Yes, sir”, I murmured, accepting the cup he himself handed me, adding to my bewilderment.

With a thin smile he made a movement with his elegant, long fingers, as if to wave my words away. ”Just like you, I have no titles, Loki. You may simply call me Jarvis; it is all I go by in this house, and have done as long as anyone cares to remember.”

Blinking at him through the steam from my cup, I considered this. I realized nothing was as I had thought it was. ”Excuse me, Jarvis?”

”Hm?” He raised his gray eyebrows to look at me questioningly, as he sipped his own tea.

”I was under the impression that you were the master of this house?”

”Me?!” He burst out into a dry laugh, which sounded genuine but seemed to be so rarely used he had nearly forgotten all about it, and he had to put his cup down so as not to spill the hot tea. ”No, young man, definitely not! I am Mr. Stark's butler. And was the same for his father before him.”

”Mr. Stark?” I was certain Jarvis had never mentioned this name before. Still, somewhere in the back of my mind, I had a feeling it should mean something to me. That the name was, if not familiar, at least not completely new to me. But I could not catch this fleeting sense of recognition before it was gone again.

”Of course.” Jarvis was looking at me as if I had just asked something that should be obvious to anyone. Most likely because to him, the existence of this mysterious Mr. Stark was as given as the ground he stood on. ”Mr. Edward Stark. He is the master of this house, and your employer.”

”I see.” Truly, I did not, but things were, in their own strange way, at least becoming clearer. Now I understood the informal greeting I had received. But still, there were questions. ”Will I get to meet Mr. Stark today as well?”

The old man shook his head, going to pick up his tea again. ”He is still not back from his latest travels. When he informed me that I should start searching for... well, you, as it turned out, he estimated that he would be back in two months, and now I believe we will have him back here within a fortnight.”

When we had finished our tea, Jarvis led me to the room on the second floor that would be mine during my stay at Ironthorn Hall. To my surprise, it was not in any kind of servant's quarters but seemed to be among the rooms belonging to the household and the finer guestrooms. Jarvis noticed my curious glances as he unlocked the door for me, and, handing me the key, he pointed at a door down the hall.

”That is the door to Mr. Stark's chambers.” Without any further explanation to the strange decision to place me so close to the master of the house, Jarvis opened the door, leaned down to pick up my bag, which had been placed by the door, and showed me inside.

The room was the largest and most elegantly decorated I had ever lived in. A wide bed was placed at the center of the opposite wall walking in, surrounded by dark green curtains nearly matching my jacket, and a bedspread patterned in the same colour mixed with dark gold and a sparkling peacock blue. There was a large wardrobe to the left, and since my room was the last one at the end of the corridor, I had a window letting in light from a courtyard to the right, shining off the silk threads of an ancient tapestry hanging on the wall. It seemed to depict a hunting scene, full of slender dogs chasing flights of colourful birds through some exotic greenery.

After placing my bag on the bed, and letting me know dinner would be served in the kitchen in two hours, Jarvis left me to get my things in order. It did not take long to hang my few garments in the wardrobe, and place my books on one of the nightstands. Then I sat down on the bed, staring out through the window. From that angle all I could see was the black branches of the forest behind the house, clawing at the clouds. My mind felt numb after all the impressions of the long journey and the arrival at what was now my home, so I let myself fall back on the soft covers. Thinking that I would but rest for a moment, I closed my eyes, and drifted.

A sharp knock on the door woke me with a start, and jumping to my feet made me dizzy and lightheaded. Walking to open it, I noticed that the grey sky outside was significantly darker than it had been and even before I was by the door, I guessed someone had been sent to fetch me for dinner.

It turned out I was right, and the task of waking me up had fallen on a man much younger than Jarvis, but likely still a few years older than me, despite the almost boyish face with sparkling eyes under the sandy hair. He introduced himself as Clint Barton, and on the way to the kitchen he had the time to tell me that he was in charge of the hounds and birds used for hunting at Ironthorn Hall, a position that was not as much of a burden as it once had been.

”The late Mr. Stark, he spent a lot of time hunting. Or so my father told me.” Clint led me down the main stairs on quick feet, and I had to hurry to keep up. ”Mr. Stark though? Well, he has no time for such things, mostly. So I care for the old animals, and I hunt on my own, of course.” Around a corner, down a long corridor. ”Any game you eat in this house, you can be sure one of my arrows found it.” He sounded proud of this, and I hummed some praise.

The kitchen was huge, warm and bright, and considering the size of it, and the house as a whole, I was surprised to find that besides myself, Clint, Jarvis and the maid who had opened the door for me, the only other one joining for dinner was the chef. When I asked, it turned out that we five were indeed the only ones living in the house. Mr. Stark, when he returned, would make six, but that seemed to still be all.

As Clint led me back to my room after the meal (I had to swallow my pride and admit that I had been too tired to be able to remember the way back on my own), I asked him about the small staff for such a large house.

”The household was much bigger once, of course”, he said. ”Now? Well, it's just Mr. Stark these days. And he is rarely here at all, more often than not off on some travels. Although, now that he has gone through the trouble of getting you here to help him, I would guess that he will be around more than usual.”

”Help him with what?” Still, no-one had bothered to explain this to me.

Clint gave me an apologetic little smile, and shook his head. ”You are going to have to wait for the master to tell you, Loki. We know next to nothing of Mr. Stark's work, so even if I would be allowed to tell you, I couldn't.”

Not allowed to tell me?

With every small answer I got, my questions multiplied. But by then, we were back by my door, and Clint left me with a quick 'good night', almost before I had time to respond.

To my surprise, I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the unfamiliar pillow.

* * *

During the two weeks I waited for my mysterious employer to arrive back at Ironthorn Hall, I at first thought to spend my time investigating the huge house, and its grounds, only to find that it was done faster than I would have thought. Most of the rooms were closed off or simply left empty and cold, with only a small core of the house maintained and kept warm and clean, so the limited number of servants was no longer as strange as it had first seemed to be. The rooms in use were mostly the same; gray stone, dark wood, tapestries, worn, red velvet and faded gold, and there was not much of interest to see.

The only thing to demand my attention was the descovery that Ironthorn Hall had its own library. Thereafter I spent many hours reading, giving up on further exploration of the house. Before touching any of the volumes, however, I made sure to ask Jarvis if he thought I was allowed to. Old memories and accusations moved in the back of my mind, and I had no wish to repeat past mistakes. He gave me a strange look at the question, but assured me that I could read every single one of the books if I was so inclined.

Wandering the gardens I found them wide and beautifully landscaped, and I thought that in spring, they would be gorgeous. But when all that was left was brown leaves tumbling in the cold wind together with the first snowflakes, there was not much to see out there. I soon returned to the library.

Some of my nights I made sure to spend with the other inhabitants of the nearly deserted house, as it otherwise was easy to forget that I was not all alone in the world.

Two weeks passed, and turned to three, and still there was no sign of Mr. Stark. Jarvis did not seem worried about this, and simply told me that it was not unheard of for the master of the house to take detours and arriving much later than estimated, if at all.

Slowly, I grew bored, so when the maid, Sophie, one day told me she had a letter that needed to be brought to the village I offered to carry it there for her. It was a cold, clear day, and I dressed myself in my coat, long enough to fall past my knees, pulled on gloves, wound a scarf around my neck, and then went on the winter walk. The snow had settled in earnest about a week earlier, and the world was white and frozen, something I of course felt at home with. My breath turned to white clouds around my head as I walked along the road, careful to avoid the patches of ice, and enjoyed the daylight and fresh air.

Half way to the village, I stopped to rest on a small hill where I had a perfect view of Ironthorn Hall and the woods beyond. Physical exertion of any kind was unusual for me, and I had walked fast to get warm under my coat, so now I went to lean on an old fence by the side of the road, catching my breath. Sitting there in the cold quiet, I heard the clapping of hooves – a horse approaching along the narrow road – and decided to stay where I was to let the rider pass.

The first thing to pass, however, was a dog. On feet more silent than the following mount, it came gliding into view like a ghost. It was tall, elegantly slim, and its sleek, shiny coat had the color of dark silver, as if it was made out of metal. When it spotted me, the dog came padding over to watch me with large, white-gold eyes, sniffing at my boots, and then moved on. 

Before the silvery animal was gone from sight, the horse appeared over the crest of the hill. A huge stallion, its coat and mane the brightest red I had ever seen on a horse, it was a shock against the white and grey landscape behind it. When it passed me, I caught a short glimpse of the riders face as he glanced down at me from the saddle. The fleeting moment left me with an impression of a face that was dark, sharp and marked. Then the horse had passed me, and I pushed away from the fence to once more start walking. The winter days were short, and I wished to be back home before dusk.

Behind me came a sudden, sliding sound.

”Damnation!”

The shout was followed by a resounding crash, shattering the peace of the day, and when I spun around on my heel, I saw that both horse and rider were on the ground, just below the hill, having slipped on one of the dangerous patches of glassy ice I had done my best to avoid myself. Alerted by the noise, the grey dog came racing back to its master, barking with distress. Never stopping to consider my actions I hurried back down the gentle slope, walking up to the rider who was now disentangling himself from his mount, grimacing.

”Are you all right, sir?”

”Fine!” He didn't even look up at me, just moved himself up on his knees, and then got on his feet. The movements were strong, so I did not think he was badly hurt by the fall, but when his left foot took the most of his weight, I saw him pale and wince. ”Out of the way, now”, he muttered, taking a limping step back, pulling the dog back by its collar as well.

When I understood the order I was quick to do so, as the horse started kicking and flailing, getting back up from the ground to stand between me and the stranger. On stiff legs the stallion shook itself, snow and broken ice flying from its long, fiery mane. When it started wandering along the road, trailing its reins, I saw that the man had placed himself on the old fence in the same way I had been sitting when he passed. The dog was dancing nervous circles around his legs, barking. ”Quiet, You!”, he barked right back, and the animal obeyed, running to sniff after the horse instead.

”If you are injured, I could go back to Ironthorn Hall for help, sir.” Still without thinking about what I was doing, I stepped closer.

The man raised his head to look at me, and the impression of dark, sharp features was clearer now - the wind ruffled hair, the thick scowl of his brows, the eyes under it, the goatee around his downturned mouth. Even darker now, when it was shadowed by anger and annoyance. His cool eyes traveled over me, taking in my narrow shape in the black-and-green coat. From what I could see of his own form where he was leaning on the fence, he was taller, broad of shoulder and chest under his fur collared coat.

”No need”, he said. ”Nothing is broken.” But when he rose from the seated position and put his weight on that left leg again, he still groaned in pain, and then sat back down.

”I cannot leave you here until I know you can get back on your horse”, I insisted, surprised at myself and my daring. Speaking this directly to a complete stranger was unlike me. 

Dark eyes came back to my face. ”Back to Ironthorn Hall, you said?” He made a gesture with his untidy head, indicating the house behind his shoulder. ”Would that be the estate down this road?”

”Yes, sir.”

”And that is where you live I take it, then?” The eyes narrowed just a hint.

”Only since very recently.”

”I see.” He huffed. ”Well then. I will not send you there for help, but you could fetch my horse for me.”

Glancing over at the stallion, now scratching out the remains of dry grass under the snow by the road, I swallowed. I had no experience handling animals, but since I had offered my help I felt that I at least had to try giving it. Slowly I walked over to the horse, and it raised its head to give me a glare very reminiscent of its owner's. Now I could see that the middle of its wide forehead carried a triangular, white mark. With a slightly unsteady hand, I reached for the reins, mumbling some nonsense, soothing words under my breath, but the stallion stepped back, shaking its head, and walked off. Squaring my shoulders, I followed, to repeat my attempt. 

This carried on for a while, the rider watching from his seat by the road, until I heard a sharp bark of a laugh and turned to see him give a weary shake of his head.

”I can see that this is useless. I will have to do it myself.” I heard the sigh he gave. ”Do you carry a cane? An umbrella, perhaps?”

”No, sir”, I answered as I walked back over to stand by him, wondering why I was sounding so apologetic. As if I somehow should have anticipated the need for such an accessory and known to bring it along.

”That leaves me only the option of using you, then. Come over here.” 

The order was short, gruff, but somehow still not completely unfriendly, so I took the last step to his side when he stood back up, and let him place a large, heavy hand on my small shoulder. He was a full head taller than me, I noticed now, and he didn't hesitate to put as much as he needed of his considerably heavier weight on me as I supported him over to where the horse was waiting.

When it was its master reaching for the reins, the stallion stood still and obedient. Patiently it stayed in place as the man, with some effort and pained grunting and grumbling, got back up in the saddle. Gathering up the reins, he cast his eyes around for something.

”My crop.” A gloved hand came down to point at the slim, black object nearly hidden in the trampled snow by the side of the road. ”Would you pick it up for me?”

I went to retrieve it, and then stepped up by the mount to reach up and hand it to him, before backing away from the now restless animal.

”Carry on now”, the man said, almost over his shoulder, turning the horse around. ”before dusk catches you out here.” Then he put his heels to the stallion and it was off with a leap, instantly followed by the silvery dog, bounding excitedly through the snow.

Taking the advice, I hurried along the road to the village, thinking the strange encounter over and done with.

* * *

I avoided being caught on the road by the dusk, but it was a close thing. When I returned to Ironthorn Hall the world was turning grey and I nearly didn't see the dog, colored like metal, sitting in the driveway as I walked up to the front door. Frowning at the familiar beast, I stepped inside and found that the usually so quiet, sedate house had suddenly come to bright, sparkling life while I had been gone. Candles and lamps were lit in the hallway, I smelled cooking even though dinner should be hours away still, and as soon as the door shut behind me Jarvis came rushing up to me.

”There you are, at last!” His long hands, usually moving so gently and slow, ushered me up the stairs with urgent little pushes. ”Mr. Stark wishes to see you in the drawing room, immediately! Dress in something more appropriate, and come back here. Hurry, now!”

My hands were already going to unbutton my coat as I ran up the stairs to my room. There I threw the coat and my sweaty shirt on the bed and quickly went to wash myself off. The black pants I wore were the same as the others I owned, so I let them stay on but paired them with a black shirt with buttons of dusky gold, and pulled on my new, green jacket over it. The straight collar made my neck seem long, and I brushed my tangled hair back from my face, still blushed from the cold air outside. It was the best I could do with such short notice.

By the stairs, Jarvis was pacing, looking uncharacteristically nervous, and he led me down an unfamiliar corridor as soon as I was on the ground floor again. We entered a wide reception room, which was empty, and walked up to an archway leading into a smaller room beyond, red curtains pulled back to show a lit fireplace, armchairs, tables, and thick carpets.

The man I had helped back on his horse that afternoon was now leaning back on the sofa on the opposite end of the room from the fire, with his injured leg propped up on a pile of pillows and folded blankets. A half empty glass of wine and some untouched pieces of fruit on a plate were placed on a low table by his elbow. The silvery, sleek dog was now stretched out on the floor as if it was guarding its master, but as I entered the drawing room it simply raised an eyebrow to watch me come closer, not even lifting the elegant head off its paws.

Jarvis hovered by my elbow as we stopped just inside the archway leading into the room, when the man's dark eyes fell on us.

”So, there you are.” He glared at me, and then turned to Jarvis. ”Leave us. I will deal with this witch on my own.”

”Sir!” Jarvis was obviously horrified. If it was because of Mr. Stark's rough way of speaking, or the word he had chosen to describe me, was harder to say. Perhaps it was both.

”He tripped my damn horse! He has a great deal of explaining to do.” Mr. Stark picked up the wine, using the same hand to point at his butler over the rim of the glass. ”Now, get out.”

I glanced at the older man by my side, and noticed him look down at me in the same moment. My worry had been that the man's harsh dismissal would have hurt him, but Jarvis seemed much more worried about leaving me, than the way Mr. Stark had spoken to him. So I gave him a small smile, in an attempt to ease his mind. Because strangely enough, I was at ease myself.

I was not as confused as I might have been. I understood. Mr. Stark had, of course, realized who I was the moment I had told him I was new to Ironthorn Hall, and made the connection between me and the ice that had caused his accident. For some reason I could not put words to, it didn't worry me. I had a feeling he was not as angered as his gruff voice made it seem. 

Somehow, I had the sense that he was testing me, judging my reaction. This was something I was more familiar with than I would have been with a dignified, perfectly polite reception, and I knew this was something I could handle.

Jarvis cleared his throat. ”Well then, sir, I will leave you now, and return later with dinner.”

”Good man.” 

Stark drained his glass as Jarvis turned on his heel and disappeared from view. Then he put it back on the table, before returning his glare to me. ”Do I dare ask you to sit, or do you have more tricks up your sleeve?”

”Tricks, sir?”, I asked, and remained standing by the archway

”It is far too late to feign innocence now”, he warned me, making a gesture to my face, where he obviously thought something like it had been showing. ”No matter. Small as you are it is still tiresome to stare up at you, standing there. Sit.” The hand moved to indicate a chair by the table holding his now empty glass.

Crossing the room, I sat down, surreptitiously adjusting my jacket at the waist, unused to the tighter fit of the garment. When I raised my eyes, he was studying me, closely. Even in the firelight the color of his brown eyes seemed cool. Not truly cold, but there was a clear distance in his look.

”So, Loki, tell me why, after living in my house for three weeks, did you feel the need to repay me thusly?” Mr. Stark pointed at his leg, while scowling at me. 

”Any way I would have wished to repay you would have been impossible to act on, sir, since I did not know your face when I saw it.” I clasped my hands in my lap. 

”It is simply your habit to bring down anyone you meet on the road then, I take it?”

”That patch of ice was no work of mine. It would have just as happily landed me on the ground as you, sir. And I did help you back up.”

”A debt of gratitude, then? Is that what you were after?”

I gave a gentle shake of my head, not sure if I should be amused or offended. ”I should say any such attempt would have been a failure, sir, since, if I may say so, you do not seem very grateful.”

”I am not sure you may say so, but well, there you have it.” Mr. Stark ran his hand through his dark hair, making it even more ruffled and untidy than it had been. ”It would be far more likely for me to be grateful if you made yourself useful and poured me another glass of wine”, he muttered, pointing to a decanter on a table closer to the fireplace.

Holding back a smile, I got up from my seat again and did as he had asked, leaving the decanter on the table between us when it was done.

Mr. Stark sipped the wine slowly this time, and his way of studying me turned more thoughtful. ”How old are you, Loki?” 

The question did not surprise me. I had known some would be coming and given the way I looked, the question of my age was inevitable. ”To my best knowledge I am seventeen, or possibly eighteen by now.”

”But you are not sure?” Tilting his head on the pillow supporting it, he frowned at me.

”No-one alive knows my date of birth, sir, so I am left to guess.”

”Of course. You are an orphan.” He nodded to himself before taking a deeper drink from his glass. ”Jarvis found you at Starwood, after all, so I should not be surprised, by that or by your youth. But honestly...” He smirked. ”When I first saw you out there on the road, I thought you a runaway child.”

All I could do was give a silent shrug, keeping my face blank, but my eyes wandered from his face before I could stop them.

”Now, that I can tell he did not like to hear”, I heard him murmur, the words followed by a soft chuckle that made my teeth clench. ”Too bad.”

With a slow breath, pulled in and let out through my nose, I calmed down. I should be used to it by now, but somehow it would never stop bothering me to be seen as childlike. Coming from him, tall and broad and all man, it somehow felt worse than it had in a long time. And at the same time, I tried hard to tell myself that no matter my build, I might have seemed nearly a child in his eyes. After all, he would have to be at least twice my age.

”Given the recommendation you sent, it would seem that you are skilled beyond your years, however.”

At that, I could turn back to face him.

”Ah, flattery is the key, I see.” Mr. Stark gave a slight snort of laughter when he met my eyes, looking amused despite the still cool gaze. ”I take it you believe yourself capable of assisting me in my work?”

”You have yet to tell me what this work entails, Mr. Stark”, I pointed out. ”Until you choose to do so, I cannot tell you what I believe myself capable of doing for you, I'm afraid.”

”Well, I will not be telling you today.” With that, he emptied the glass and put it back on the table. ”But since you claim that the ice on the road was not your work, how do I know you have the skills I have been searching for?”

The look in his dark eyes had now turned from distance, into what was even to me an unmistakeable challenge. Still, I felt at ease again. My age, my face, my form, I could do nothing to change any of those things. They were out of my control. My magic, on the other hand, was always at my beck and call, and I knew without a doubt that I could control it.

So, Mr. Stark wished for a demonstration? I would give him one.

Silently, I sat up straighter in the chair, no longer concerned with the fit of my jacket, and lifted my left hand into the air between us, empty palm facing up. No longer dependent upon strong feelings to trigger my ability, I effortlessly reached into my heart to find the cold, blue glow of the frozen flame ever flickering there. The power traveling through me felt like chills and shivers, making the fine hairs on my arm stand on end in a pleasant way, until I could see it coat my fingertips in frost.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr. Stark move at the sight. He sat up slightly straighter, lifting himself a few inches off the pillows, leaning sideways to get a closer look at my hand. I knew he would be able to feel the cold in the air, radiating off my skin. On the floor by my feet, the silvery dog lifted is head and gave a gentle whine, making Mr. Stark mutter a ”Down, You!”, but I paid little attention. I was still not done.

Curling all my fingers gently up, I focused the cold into the center of my palm and summoned the flow of ice into being. Crystals crackled to life, shaping themselves to my will, aligning into the pattern I saw in my mind, and I could hear the small but sharp intake of air from the man beside me. Smiling, I finished, and with a smooth flick of my wrist, I let the ice fall into my hand, resting on my still cold skin. Then I wordlessly leaned forward, and offered the thing I had created to Mr. Stark. My eyes came up to meet his as I did, and found them wider than they had been when his hand came up to accept the gift.

I had let the cold form the shape of a huge snowflake, as wide across as my palm, made up of delicate points of ice, threads of frost, stars and intricate patterns fanning out from the center. I had put enough power into it that it did not immediately begin to melt as it touched Mr. Stark's hand, giving him time to hold it up for closer inspection. And he did so, for a few moments, turning the thing over in his fingers, until the cold at last got to him. With a small wince, he turned and let the now dripping remains fall into his empty glass.

Shaking the water and chill from his fingers, he looked up at me again. ”That answers my question, I should say”, he said, slowly. Then he let himself fall back on the pillows again, watching me in silence, as I sat just as silent and still, waiting for what would come next. ”Although, it makes me even less convinced you did not trip my horse.” One of the thick brows arched. ”But I will have to address that another day. Get out now, Loki. Leave me to rest.” His hand came up once more, to point to the archway.

”Of course, sir”, I said, tilting my head to him in a small nod, and got up to walk out.

As I passed the pulled back curtains into the dark reception room beyond I heard him mutter behind me, pretending to speak to the dog, all the while intending me to hear the words. ”That one will be trouble, You. Take my word for it.” 

Smiling, I kept walking without turning back.

* * *

With Mr. Stark back in the house I had thought I would see a lot more of him, but I was wrong. After he dismissed me from the drawing room that first night, I did not see him for almost a week. But even so, the signs of his return were evident all around me. The rooms were lighter, brighter and warmer, filled with lit lamps and fires, the servants moved with a new sense of purpose, and Ironthorn Hall felt more alive than it had since my arrival.

Still, I was surprised by my employers absence, and one afternoon I could no longer keep from asking Jarvis about it. He had let me join him for tea, as had become a habit of late, and I took the opportunity to attempt to find out more about the master of the house.

”Mr. Stark”, I began as I stirred my tea slowly, ”has a very... rough way about him.” There was no more flattering way to put it, and I worried for a moment that the old man would be insulted on his master's behalf. Instead, he smiled at me.

”Admittedly, he has had a strong will and insisted upon his own ways since he was a boy.” Jarvis leaned back in his chair, cradling his cup in long, spindly fingers. ”He has grown used to having it, and expects any order to be obeyed, unquestioningly.”

None of this came as a surprise to me. Mr. Stark was after all a man in a position of both wealth and power, that much I had guessed already. However, it was not exactly what I had been after.

”Yes, I can imagine.” My eyes lowered to follow the swirl of the amber liquid in my cup. ”Perhaps I had thought a man in his position would be slightly more... civil?” I dared glance up at him again, to see a reaction.

”Well, Mr. Stark has his reasons for being slightly standoffish.”

I guessed that was one way of putting it...

Jarvis seemed to be considering how to phrase his next words, gazing into the glowing embers by our feet, and I let him. ”He has secluded himself, here or in his other homes, the last years.” With a dry little sigh, the man turned to face me again. ”The world got the better of him, I'm afraid, and he has very few dealings with other people these days. His patience has never been great, and now? Well, you noticed...”

Nodding, I waited to see if there would be more coming.

”Do not take too much of what he says to heart, Loki”, he advised me, his lined face serious. ”He may growl and bark, but he means little by it, and as long as you do what is expected of you, he will not bite.”

”And what _is_ expected of me, Jarvis?” I had hoped for some hint of the nature of the work I had after all been hired to do, but I was disappointed.

”To listen, and be ready to do as told.” The butler nodded, once, as if this was written in stone. ”The same as is expected of all of us in this house. As long as you do so, everything will become clear, in good time.”

I knew that would be the only answer I would ever be able to get out of Jarvis. He was by far too loyal to give anything away that might be one of his master's secrets, and I would simply have to take his advice, and trust that the man knew best.

Waiting to see what would transpire next was still taking a toll on me, but fortunately I did not have to wait for much longer after my conversation with Jarvis. Two days later, Sophie found me in the library to tell me that Mr. Stark once more had requested to see me in the drawing room. Since I was this time already dressed as well as I could be expected to, in an older but still nicely cut jacket in gray velvet, I told her I would go there at once, and that she did not have to bring any word back to him. She seemed relieved, and I wondered if this encounter with my employer would not turn out even stranger than the first.

Mr. Stark was sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace this time, his left leg resting on a stool in front of him. Perhaps it was still troubling him? By his elbow was another small table, and another wineglass, completing the familiar picture. He was sitting with his back half turned to the archway, so when I reached it I stopped, before entering the room, and cleared my throat softly, alerting him to my presence. Not even turning his head, he raised his hand from the armrest to wave me closer.

”Come here, Loki.” He moved his leg from the stool, used his knee to push it back from his chair. ”Sit here, where it is light enough to let me see you.”

I walked up to him and seated myself on the stool. It was slightly lower than the seat of his chair, and sitting there made me feel even smaller in comparison to him, but I swallowed the discomfort and sat still and quiet in the light from the fire, where he had wanted me. At least this position made it easy for me to study him as well. He wore all black, except for a dark red waistcoat, his hair was just as wild as it had been last time I had seen him, while his goatee seemed very recently trimmed and was even sharper against his jawline.

For what felt like a very long time, he watched me in silence, until I could no longer hold his gaze and found myself squirming slightly on the seat under his scrutiny. Sitting on the footstool in front of him, his eyes so close, I almost felt naked. Like he could see a lot more of me than he should. When he finally spoke, it was almost a relief.

”You told me you are somewhere between seventeen and eighteen years old.” It was no question, but I still gave a short nod. ”How many of those years did you spend at Starwood?”

”Nearly eight, sir.” I turned back to face him as I gave my reply, finding his eyes intense and curious.

”And before that?”

”I lived with relatives before that, sir. But when it became apparent what I am, I was sent away.”

”And these relatives? You have no wish to go back there, to live with them now?”

”None, sir. And even if I did, I would not be welcome.”

He once more watched me in silence for a few moments. ”'What I am', you say...” The dark eyes narrowed. ”And what would that be?”

”I believe myself in all things just as human as you, sir. Perhaps I should have said 'what I can do', instead?”

”Perhaps you should.” Pausing again, he picked up his glass and drank. ”And what makes you think me human?”

”What else would you be, sir?”

”Coming from Starwood, I thought you would know that some monsters wear human skin.”

His words made me remember doctor Banner. To that day, I still did not know what kind of secret he was hiding behind his caring, very human face. The way he had never touched on the subject, and the way even Frigga had never let any detail slip, I did not think it was something pleasant. Still, I had never thought of the doctor as a monster. Nor anyone else I had met at the school.

”Do you believe there to be such things, sir?”

”Oh, no, I do not believe so; I know it to be so.” Mr. Stark's smile then was a very sharp thing, and it cut any answer I might have had short.

Again, we sat quietly for a moment.

”So.” Stark leaned back in the armchair after putting down the now empty glass, let his eyes wander away from me, and seemed ready to at last touch on more practical issues. ”I assume Jarvis gave you a proper room when you arrived?”

”Yes, sir.” I nodded, relaxing slightly now that the intense interest in my person seemed to have passed. ”On your own floor and only two doors from your rooms, as I understand it.”

”Ah, excellent. Just as I told him.”

”May I ask why you wished to have me there?” Curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn't hold back the questions I had carried with me since my arrival at Ironthorn Hall. ”Why not in the servant's quarters?”

He turned his eyes on me again, golden in the firelight. ”Are you one of the servants?”

I had to say no, but the answer didn't seem enough. ”I am still an employee, sir. Not a guest.”

”That you are not.” Stark placed his elbows on the armrests, clasping his hands in front of his chest, watching me over the interlaced fingers. ”The difference between you and the servants, Jarvis and Barton, as well as the cook and the maid, is that they work for the house, maintaining it. Following their own set schedules. You?” His head tilted forward, a smile touching his mouth. ”You will be working for me. And as you will find out soon enough, I work any, and sometimes all hours of the day.”

Now his head fell back into the supporting chair again, and he opened his hands in a gesture to me. ”When I have need of you, I wouldn't want to have to run all over this house to find you. I pride myself with keeping all my tools in order.”

I thought about this for a moment. Wondering if it was an attempt at an insult. ”Is that what I am, sir? A tool?”

The hint of a smile came back then. ”Does that bother you, Loki?” 

He definitely seemed out to get some reaction from me, but I sat still, once more thinking about his words.

”No, Mr. Stark. A tool is something put to good use. Why should that bother me?”

The smile on his lips did the strangest thing when he heard my words. It broadened, but at the same time turned so bitter that I could feel the taste of it curl my own tongue. ”So you believe a tool could only be put to good use? You are all shades of wrong making that assumption, and I know all about it, so trust me on this.” His smile softened when he saw my frown, and he shook his head. ”But there is no need to worry. This is about me making up for putting tools and skills to use in all the wrong ways before. Any use I find for you in my work, will be for good.”

”Then I definitely don't mind it, sir.”

Slowly, the smile slipped from his face, and he sat silent for a while, before he raised a hand and reached down towards me. I made myself stay still, not flinching away, as he caught my chin between thump and index finger and turned my head to the flickering light of the flames beside us. I followed the movement, and once more studied his face as he studied mine. This close I could make out every long, black eyelash, the few white hairs in his eyebrows. He was thoughtful now, and so were that next words he spoke.

”You are far too trusting, Loki. Do you believe anything you are told?”

”No, sir. But I see no reason not to trust you, as of yet. If I ever do, I will reconsider.”

He still held on to my jaw as I spoke. ”And I believe that you will, at that”, he murmured, and then slowly let go of me again, staying as he was, leaning close to me. ”Honesty comes strangely easy to you. Do lies run as smoothly over that tongue of yours as truths?”

”Yes, they do”, I replied curtly, holding his cool gaze.

That made Stark sit back in his chair, and his eyes widened slightly. Then he laughed. ”Just when I think I have you figured out, you manage to surprise me.” He leaned all the way back, ran his fingers over his goatee, smoothing the dark, trimmed hairs. ”Yes, I do believe this will work. Better than I had hoped. You do fill all the requirements.”

I had no idea what to make of this, so I said nothing. As it turned out, it was not expected of me to give an answer.

”We will begin tomorrow”, my employer continued. ”Be ready.” And then he waved me away from the room with a sharp gesture that left no room for questions.

'Be ready' he had told me, but not when I should be. As I came to learn in time, this meant that I was expected to be ready at any time, for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If anyone is curious about what You looks like, he is modeled after a breed of dog called [weimaraner](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/db/Weimaraner_Maya_Lou.jpg), and they actually do look like they are made out of metal.)


	3. Ice and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry in advance - this chapter is _huge_. Grab something to eat and go in well rested, is my advice.)

When Mr. Stark came to me the next day, I was ready. Or as ready as I could be for something I still had no idea what to make of. He brought me to a small door hidden away behind the main stairs and took out a heavy, iron key which I thought would unlock it. In the end, it merely revealed an odd second kind of lock, a metal cylinder Mr. Stark moved in a complicated sequence of turns. That finally opened the door and let us through to a smaller staircase, leading down into darkness, but Mr. Stark had brought a three-arm candlestick to light our way.

”I carry the only key to that door, and I alone know the code”, he told me as he walked down the turning spiral stairs a few steps ahead of me. ”No-one comes or goes without my permission.”

There was nothing to say to that; it was his home, and well within his rights.

By the end of the stairs was another door leading into a room so large the light from the candles touched nothing but empty space in front of us. Mr. Stark stopped just inside the door, picked one candle up and turned to hand it to me before pointing to a lamp on the wall by the door. ”Light it. And then follow the wall around. There are more of them.” Before he had even finished giving the order he was moving to do the same along the other wall.

Occupied by this chore I had my back to the room until we met again at the opposite end of it, having lit all the lamps along the way. Here there was another door, closed, and Stark made no move to open it. Instead he turned to face the room behind us. I followed his lead, not knowing what to expect.

The room was not only large, it was huge. The ceiling was so high it disappeared in shadows even after all the lamps had been lit, and the door we had entered through was very far away now. On the wide floor something I had no words for filled a large part of the enormous room. Carried on a round, heavy metal base was a smooth, hollow glass orb. It was easily twice my height and inside it, through the just faintly tinted blue-gray glass, I could make out complicated patterns of cogs and gears and other parts I did not have the knowledge to describe or name. These parts only filled the middle part of the orb, however, leaving most of the enclosed space empty. 

”Quite impressive, if I may say so myself.”

Blinking, I turned to stare up at the man beside me. ”What... what is it?” 

”The future.” Mr. Stark turned to me, wearing the widest, most proudly pleased grin I had ever seen. His brown eyes were glinting in the lamplight, and his teeth were very white. ”This will change the world forever, Loki. Run any machine, give light and warmth to anyone who needs it. Endlessly. It is perfection.” He sighed, and then made a wry face. ”At least, it _will_ be perfection, as soon as I can get it to start functioning.”

He left my side to walk in an angle across the room to another wall, where thick tarps were covering something else. When he pulled it off, I saw that it was a large steam engine. I was no more familiar with the workings of this technology, but this at least I had seen depicted and described in books from the man's own library. I noticed that the engine was connected to the thing in the middle of the room.

”The problem”, Stark continued as he ran a hand over the metal parts, almost caressing them, as if they could have felt it, ”is that the Arc requires outside power to engage, before it can generate its own. Become self-sustaining. So far?” There was a knot between his eyebrows as he turned back. ”So far it has ended in destruction and fire every time I have even come close to succeeding. The heat becomes too much.”

I took another, more careful look at the strange machinery. It was quickly becoming clear to me where my abilities and skills would fit into Mr. Stark's work, and when I once more turned to see him standing right by my side, I knew he had seen the understanding on me.

”Well then, Loki?” A dark brow arched as I looked up at him. For the first time I noticed that there were a scattering of white hairs in his dark goatee, and hiding by his temples. ”Do you now believe yourself capable of helping me?”

Considering for a moment, I made an attempt to calculate the size of the room, the heat the engine might generate, the risks... Of course, it was completely futile. This was unlike anything I had ever encountered. So I simply reached for the comfort of the ice in my heart, felt the cold force surge and fill my chest, extinguishing any doubt, and then nodded. ”I do, sir.”

”Then it is about time we get to work.”

And that we did, although admittedly a lot more slowly and carefully than I would have guessed. It was obvious that Mr. Stark did nothing in this place he had not put thought and calculation into, planned and envisioned long before his hands started moving. Watching him work was like seeing some new form of magic. Some things he let me help him with as he adjusted the connection between the engine and the glass orb, even though I mostly had to stay out of the way and bring him tools. Only when he was satisfied that everything was in order did he pull me over to a large fireplace I had passed by while lighting the lamps. He piled some wood on the blackened stones, stuffed the construction with dry moss and birch bark, and then lit the fire before stepping back.

”We start small.” Dark eyes regarded me coolly. 

”You do not believe me capable then, sir?” Somehow, I could not feel insulted. I had seen how meticulous he was, and I knew that this was not a man who would risk everything on something he did not know the workings of.

He gave me a thin smile. ”We start small”, he simply repeated.

”What do you want me to do, Mr. Stark?” I needed him to be more specific, and I could see that he was ready to be, finally.

”Contain the heat of the fire, without putting it out.”

Biting my lip, I watched the flames start to take hold of the dusty wood. That was something I had never tried before, but yes, I thought I could manage it. Not giving myself much time to mull it over, I squatted down to get closer to the fire, balancing on the balls of my feet, and raised my hands with palms out. For this, I summoned no ice, only the cold. I saw my own breath turn to white clouds before I gathered the frozen air and gently willed it towards the heat, keeping it away from the flames.

”Will this do?” I muttered through my focus.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Stark assume a similar position by my side, reaching a hand out to the fire. I could feel his fingers pass through the chill as if it had been a part of me, and in some ways it was. He leaned forward and got almost all the way there, nearly even touching the burning wood with his fingertips, before he pulled his arm back. 

Then he turned a smile at me, soft and pleased and genuinely impressed, and it warmed me so much the cold slipped from my grasp. ”It will do, Loki. It will absolutely do.”

* * *

The small start grew, slowly, over the following week. I was happy for the slow progress. This specialized use of my magic was all new, after all, and I needed the practice. Mr. Stark made sure I could cool the steam engine before we moved on, and when he was able to almost put his hand on some of the nearly glowing hot metal by the fire running it, without feeling even a hint of heat, he was satisfied that we could move on. 

Which, I think, goes to show that no matter how well prepared you believe yourself to be, it is never enough.

At first, it all seemed to run smoothly, however. I shielded the glass construction Mr. Stark referred to as ”the Arc” from the worst of the heat from the engine, which by now did not take too much effort on my part. At least not until it was time to connect the two. Then I also needed to cool the pistons running into the Arc, powering the machinery inside it, making the cogs and gears start working, ever faster, generating their own heat. By then some strain was starting to make itself known, but I was still certain I could maintain this for a good while longer.

Mr. Stark stood an arm's length away from me, watching. He said nothing for some time, but I could feel the tension coming from him.

Inside the Arc, the movements were now so fast they were nearly blurred, and the heat was growing. Rapidly. My heart fluttered nervously as I felt the increase swiftly turning nearly overpowering. 

”Sir?” I heard the nearly shrill tone of alarm in my voice. ”I cannot hold it back much longer.”

”A little bit more, Loki.” He sounded very far away, even though he was still right there beside me. ”Just... a little bit. It is nearly there now! If you can just -”

But whatever he had 'just' wanted from me, he would not have it. For in that moment the heat completely overwhelmed me, and suddenly the very air around the Arc seemed to ignite. As if the world had suddenly slowed down, I could see the flames coil at the base, ready to spring for us, and I did not waste any time considering what I should do. I simply acted.

With one long stride I was in front of Mr. Stark. Still so very distantly, I could hear a shout that sounded vaguely like a protest, but I did not listen. Instead I put all my focus into throwing up a shield in front of us both, blossoming out from my defensively raised hands, thick, sturdy and imbued with the coldest core I could manage. The impact of heat and flame against the shield pushed me back into Starks's chest, and I heard the small grunt it got out of him, the sound suddenly so very close compared to before. At the same time I smelled the stench of singed hair, and hoped it was mine. But the shield I had summoned at least held, protecting us both, until the flames died back. 

As soon as I felt the fire subside, taking the searing heat with it, I let go of the thick sheet of ice I had been holding on to. It fell from my palms, shattering on the stone floor by my feet, and at the same time I felt my knees buckle. For nearly an hour I had chilled the large room around us. The added shock and strain of protecting us both had nearly taken all the frostfire out of my heart, and left me completely drained. Unable to stop it from happening I felt myself start to slide down Mr. Stark's chest, knowing I would end up on the floor, just as broken as my shield.

Then hands were under my arms, holding me up. ”Loki!” There was concern in his voice.

”I'm sorry, sir...” I was not sure why I was apologizing. Perhaps for falling against him, for making him feel obliged to help me to my feet. There was more I wanted to say, to assure myself he was unharmed, to assure him I was not harmed, but my words failed me. Darkness came flooding into my vision, I could no longer feel my feet on the floor, or my hands hanging limp by my side.

”Foolish boy”, I heard by my ear, as the arms shifted so that one came to rest around my shoulders and the other one went sliding in behind my useless knees, lifting me.

Then I knew nothing more until I woke up flat on my back stretched out on a sofa. At first I had no idea where I was, and eyeing the room did nothing to help me; I had never seen it before. A desk was at the center of the floor, piled high with books, papers, pens and the like. The high but windowless stone walls made me guess I was still below ground, however, and I suspected I had been brought behind the door at the back of the workroom. I had seen it often over the last weeks, but it had always been closed.

Sitting on the edge of the seat beside me, leaning in over me now, was Mr. Stark. 

”Ah, that's better”, he said when my eyes found his. He gave a small sigh, and some tension seemed to leave his face. Relief? ”Here, this will help.” Before I could protest his help and care, his arm was behind my shoulders again, holding me up, his other hand placing a glass by my lips. The warm, strong smell of the liqueur made my eyes flutter open even wider, and I decided it would be wise to accept the offered drink. After letting me have a couple of swallows, he took the glass back and lowered me onto the cushions again.

I closed my eyes, felt the warmth fill my chest and stomach, and drew in a deep, steadying breath before I opened them again. Not daring to look at the man beside me, I studied the room closer, curious, since I had been kept out of here before. 

There was a fireplace behind the desk I noticed now, and in the light from the lamp Mr. Stark had lit in the room I could just make out what was mounted on the wall above the mantle. It was two long rifles, sleek instruments of death and destruction, the polished metal gleaming coldly in the light. The dark wood was marked with a familiar S, burned into it. Seeing the mark suddenly made me recall the feeling of recognition the first time I had heard Mr. Stark's name spoken, and now I knew it. Now I remembered, and felt like a fool that it had taken me this long.

My eyes flitted back to his face, and the look on it told me that he had noticed where my eyes had traveled, and what knowledge they had brought back. ”You are the Merchant of Death”, I whispered, and wondered how I had not known before.

I only just caught the pained look that passed by behind his eyes even as he kept his face still and motionless. ”No”, he said, voice coarse. ”I was. No longer.”

And I understood then why he knew all about putting tools and skills to the wrong use. Of course he would know. The son of a father who had armed armies with his lethal inventions, growing into a man who had strived to carry on the legacy he had inherited. A legacy built on war and death. But his claim to be working to undo the wrongs he had done? No, that I no longer believed in. How could I?

As if he had read my mind, he growled under his breath, the wide shoulders pulling up as if in defense. ”Are you reconsidering your trust in me, Loki?”

For a fleeting moment I considered lying to him, but there was no use doing so. He would know the truth from my eyes, if he had not already seen it there. ”I am”, I murmured, making an attempt to push myself up in a seated position, but I was still too weak and failed, dropping back almost instantly.

”No, stay down.” His large hand came up to rest on my chest, keeping me in place, and I swallowed. The fear must have also been evident on my face, because he made a wry grimace and immediately pulled the hand back off me. ”I have no wish to harm you, you fool! Or do you think I could, when you are lying in front of me weak and helpless after using yourself up to save my life? Do I truly seem that coldhearted to you, Loki?”

Truly, he did not. I slowly shook my head, and let my eyes drift from his.

”Perhaps you regret your actions now?”

The bitter words made me turn back, horrified. His face was harsh, his eyes nearly black as they glared down at me, and I did not know if I made out more anger or hurt in the tight set of his mouth.

”Never!” Once again I moved to sit myself up, and the emotion driving me gave me the strength I needed to succeed this time. I slowly pushed myself back on shaking arms to lean against the armrest behind me, so I could face him more directly than when I had been staring up from the seat below him. ”No matter who, I could not stand by and watch a man burn.” I swallowed again, through a tight throat. ”Or do I truly seem that coldhearted, sir?”

Mr. Stark sighed at that, shook his head, and gave me a long, strange look I did not know what to make of. ”Despite the frozen power living in there, I do not believe you coldhearted at all, Loki.” His head tilted thoughtfully. ”Perhaps that is why I hope to still have your help, even now. Why I hope you will believe in what I strive to accomplish here.”

”And what, sir, is that? More precisely?” I believed I had earned the right to ask.

Another sigh left him, this one weary and strained. ”The factories building my weapons are no more, and you would have a hard time believing how much hate closing them caused. Every man and woman left without employment that day. Every man and woman who stood to earn a comfortable living from the things I invented, had made, sold... Ah, Loki, that look I saw in your eyes was nothing new to me.” He gave a very dark little chuckle, and turned to stare into nothing as he continued. ”What I am doing here, it is what I hope will redeem me in all those hate-filled eyes. What I wish to leave behind, to make the world better than I made it before.” Once more, he looked at me. ”Can a man not change his mind? And his heart?”

I blinked, stunned by the direct questions and the open, vulnerable lines on his face. But there was only one answer I could give. ”No, sir.”

The short, definite answer made him blink at me instead and he pulled himself back, a deep frown forming. ”And why the hell not?”

How could I explain this? I could hardly explain it to myself, or why I was so certain in my answer. Still, somewhere deep inside of me I realized I did not believe in the possibility that a man could change. Nothing in my experience told me such a possibility existed. 

I had grown up in the house of a man cut in stone, one who could never go back on a word, reevaluate an opinion, or see the other side of anything. He had raised a son to be the same, and I had always been told that this was the ideal of a man. To be set in his ways. To be unyielding, unchanging. To make a choice and stay with it, no matter what should come to pass.

Of course, I had never been able to live up to this standard. Just as I had never quite been able to live up to any other idea I had met of what made a man what he was. Nonetheless, the thought had stayed with me, turned into a belief, and made me think that perhaps I was more of a man than I had ever thought, considering the fact that I still had not let go of it.

”I can... I don't...” I faltered. What I had been so certain of moments ago suddenly slipped through my fingers, leaving me without an answer. After all, I had always thought of Mr. Stark as all man. If he thought himself able to change, if he longed for it, maybe it was also a part of being a man. ”Perhaps I had it wrong, sir”, I had to admit, at last.

”Of course you were wrong!” Stark growled out the words, but then I could see him make an effort to calm himself, his face softening. ”I made the world darker, once. Now I wish to make it brighter. And to do that, to replace the mark I have left in this life, I still need your help.” The vulnerability was back in his eyes. ”So I am asking you if you could find it in you to grant it? Still? Knowing what I am?”

_What I am._

The words made me remember our previous conversation. How he had claimed to be a monster in human form, while I had been sure to make a distinction between what I was and what I could do. Did he not deserve the same distinction? He had done horrible things, yes, but what he was, even so, was human.

Didn't I know, after all, what it was like to look inside yourself and see a monster? To wish for redemption? Where would I have been this day if I had not been granted a second chance? What right did I have to deny him his second chance, then? 

None, of course. No right what so ever.

Pulling in a long, slow breath, I sat myself up even straighter, squaring my shoulders. ”I will help you, sir”, I said, and this time I was sure I saw relief. ”If I can, I will.”

We sat in silence then, me still leaning against the armrest, he nearly perched on the edge of the seat.

Stark gave a deep, slow sigh after a few moments. ”I find myself forgetting how young you really are.” The dark eyes wandered over my features and down, to take in what he could see of my shape where I sat in front of him. ”Barely more than a boy, truly. That serious face you wear, those serious words coming out of it... Makes it easy to forget.”

I found myself without an answer, and anyway, there had been no question.

”What do you even know of the world, Loki?”

That on the other hand was definitely a question.

”No doubt I have seen far less of it than you, sir, but I believe that my heart knows more than my eyes have seen.”

”You think so?” A smirk pulled at one side of his mouth. ”Well, I doubt that it knows enough. And still, I can't help but think how that never cold little heart of yours -” He suddenly cut himself off and turned away sharply, to stare across the room. ”No matter. We are done here for tonight. You must be tired, no doubt, after what you did for me. Go to bed.”

I was indeed tired, but as I carefully stood from my seat on now just slightly unsteady legs, I still hesitated. Before I turned to leave, I couldn't stop myself asking, “and you, sir?”

”What about me?” Still staring at nothing. Or perhaps it was the rifles on the wall that had caught his eyes? 

”You must be tired as well.”

His dark features did not even shift. ”Go to bed, Loki.”

So I did.

* * *

When I didn't see Mr. Stark for three days after that I was not surprised. When he finally came to find me I was surprised, however.

It was a very cold and clear day and I had decided to take a walk in the gardens for fresh air and to catch some of the brief winter sun on my face. The snow creaked under my boots, breath was steam around my head, and every leaf and twig was covered in furry frost. There was a wooden bench by the path near the chestnut tree and I went to sit down, careful to spread my coat out under me to keep the frost oof my pants. For a long time I sat there, lost in thought.

Since I had left Stark in the basement, I had turned what I now knew over in my head, and with every turn I became increasingly sure that I had made the only decision I could have made. My employer had a dark past, I could not deny that, but even with his rough and gruff ways of treating me, I had never thought him evil. Or monstrous. He had never done anything to harm me, or anyone else, and even though he was teasing and testing rather than gentle and kind, he did not ever seem mean.

With my own eyes I had seen how hard he was working. Of course he might be lying to me about the purpose of the Arc, he might be constructing something to end the world, not change it. But the vulnerability I had glimpsed in his face and eyes when he had asked, hoped, for my help, made me certain that was not the case.

A movement by my feet pulled me from my thoughts then and I looked down to see You (which indeed seemed to be the dog's actual name) standing there, wagging its slim tail. Since the animal was rarely outside without its master, I knew who was approaching me with crunching, creaking footsteps along the path. Squinting against the low sun I still turned to see Mr. Stark come to tower over me, all dark, looming shadow against the white brightness.

”Walk with me a moment, Loki.”

Standing up from the bench I brushed snow and frost from the back of my black-and-green coat and fell in with his stride as he walked on, just slightly behind his left shoulder. He wouldn't have that, though, and a large arm came back to catch my closest shoulder, a gloved hand resting on the back of my neck. The arm pulled at me, made me lengthen my step until I was side by side with him, and when we slowly walked on like that his hand stayed resting on my right shoulder, heavy but somehow reassuring. We walked in silence between snow covered flowerbeds and bare rosebushes.

The silvery dog trotted off to investigate the tracks left by a hare.

”I believe I never really thanked you for saving my life.” He glanced at me as we walked on. In the sunlight his brown eyes seemed to glow from within, shimmering with spots of amber.

”Perhaps not”, I said, taking my eyes from his. I knew that unlike him I didn't wear the harsh sun well. The sharp shadows brought out the irregular features of my face, and the light green color of my eyes simply looked flat in the daylight.

”Is that all I get? I am trying to thank you now.” Stark stopped. His hand on my shoulder made me come to a halt and then turned me to face him. He was wearing a dark frown.

”Then I'm listening, sir.” I was relieved to find that he had placed me in his shadow.

”Well then.” He cleared his throat. ”Thank you, Loki.”

If I had expected something eloquent I would have been disappointed, but luckily I had not.

”You are welcome, Mr. Stark.”

”Is that all?” The frown grew even darker. “As if we were nothing but strangers, still?”

”I am not sure what else to offer you, sir. I thought this was about _you_ thanking _me_?” I had no idea where the flippant answer came from, and I was sure that it would end me in trouble, despite the gratitude he might feel.

Instead he just gave a huff of laughter, which turned to white smoke in the cold. ”So it is. Well, I can offer you something, at least.” His hand pulled at my shoulder again, steering me towards the house. ”This cold probably agrees with you, but I am freezing. I will ask the chef for some mulled wine, and you will share it with me.”

Quietly, I thought that someone should teach Mr. Stark the difference between an offer and an order, but I merely gave a murmur of agreement, and followed him inside.

In the kitchen, where he pulled me along so that he could ask for the wine in person, we found the rest of the household all seated by the table over a light lunch. They seemed shocked to find their master in the room, and there were a few frantic moments of rushed activity before he could wave them all off.

”Damn it all!”, he growled at Jarvis, actually grabbing the butler by his elbows to push him back in the chair he had stood from to offer Mr. Stark food, refreshments, his seat... ”You can all just sit back down, right now. Except you.” He turned to the chef, Thomas, and ordered the mulled wine for the two of us. Then he seemed to think again. ”On second thought, make enough for all of you, since I disturbed your meal.”

That lifted the spirits in the room immediately, and I was beginning to see that Mr. Stark really did have something warm beneath his rough, standoffish surface. Yet, the atmosphere was not as completely relaxed as it usually was until the wine was done, and I was given our part of it, along with glasses, to carry off to the drawing room. When Mr. Stark was leading us back out of the kitchen, Clint got to his feet and quickly, in that fleeting way of moving that he had, came up by his master's side.

”Excuse me, sir? But perhaps one of these clear days would be suitable for a winter hunt?” The hope in his voice and the wide eyes on his boyish face was impossible to misread.

There was something close to a glare on Mr. Stark's face. ”Is that so?” Somehow he made it sound as if the hunter had delivered a mortal insult to his person, rather than a simple, reasonable suggestion.

Barton paled slightly, and shut his mouth tight. Suddenly the room felt tensely cold.

Stark said nothing more. He simply started walking again, leading me to the drawing room in silence. There he pulled up a table between the chairs by the fireplace, directed me to place the wine and glasses on it, and then once more put his hand over my shoulder to abruptly seat me in one of the armchairs. As he sat down in the other one, he was still silent.

I filled our glasses, picked up one and drank deeply. Perhaps it was the spicy heat of it that made me speak up as I did next. ”I take it then, that you do not enjoy hunting, sir?”

The glare was directed at me this time. However, I was ready by now to take my chances that it was all a part of the facade. ”A waste of time”, he grumbled, reaching for his own glass. ”My father considered it the highest of entertainment, of course, but then, he had already achieved everything he wanted. He had time to waste.” A huff of laughter escaped him, before he took a swallow which drained half his glass. ”Or so he thought.”

Sensing more danger down that path than I could have ever guessed, I changed my direction. ”I am sure it would make Barton happy if you chose to join him.”

Mr. Stark's head had drifted towards the fire, but now it snapped back to me. ”And it is my duty to make him happy, then?”

”No, sir.” I swallowed.

”Or is it that you wish me to bring you back some white winter pelt?” Mr. Stark's voice grew almost harsh at that.

”Of course not, sir”, I murmured, lowering my head. ”I'm sorry. It is not my place to -”

”No, it's not”, he cut me off, although not as harshly as I would have anticipated after his last words. ”But none the less, you are right.” 

Now, it was my turn to snap my head in his direction, to find him smiling a crooked smile at me.

”It would make Barton happy.” He drank again, once more facing the fireplace. ”While it might not be my duty to please him, I believe he has earned it.” Then he turned a glance my way, which I could only call teasing. ”And you will be joining me, I assume?”

” _Me_ , sir?!” It was more or less a squeak, as if I had transformed into a terrified little boy again. ”Please, don't make me! I cannot even ride a horse, sir! I could never -!”

The first real, deep, honest laughter I had ever heard out of Mr. Stark was what shut me up then. The warmth of it surprised me. ”Oh, calm yourself, Loki!” He brushed away strands of hair, which had fallen into his eyes during the fit of laughter. ”I won't make you.” Then he grinned, and added: ”Not this time.”

I could do nothing but blink at that.

”I will teach you how to ride a horse properly first, of course”, he said, as if to reassure me.

”Sir?” I was utterly confused by this offer.

”A man needs to be able to handle a horse, Loki”, he said, nearly serious again by now. ”It is not right for you not to know how it's done.”

For a moment, I stared down into the dark, red depths of my wine. Somewhere along the way I seemed to have changed in his eyes from the 'runaway child' by the road, to 'a man'. It warmed me more than the drink. I made myself meet his eyes again, and noticed that the cool, distanced look in them was gone now, replaced by something softer.

”If you would care to take the time to teach me, sir, I would be honored.”

”It's settled, then.” He raised his glass to me, to seal our deal, and I lifted mine to tap the rim of his with my own.

* * *

Mr. Stark spent two days working tirelessly to restore the damage the fire had done to the Arc, but after most if it was put to right he seemed to recall what he had said about the hunt. And on a clear, achingly cold morning he rode out to the forest on his red stallion, with a happily grinning Barton beside him on a gray gelding. You was racing in front of them, running for the forest's edge in leaps and bounds. Bows and quivers slung over both their backs were the last things I saw as they disappeared in the white distance.

The short winter day passed without word from the hunt, but no-one but me seemed bothered by this. When afternoon turned to dusk and there was still no sign of the men returning, however, unease started to spread through the house. I seated myself by a window overlooking the back of the garden and the field running to the dark trees, watching and waiting. It had grown nearly too dark to see beyond the trees and hedgerows of the garden when I made out horses coming over the field. If they had not been so dark against the white snow, I would never have seen them.

Relief flooded me, and nearly distracted me from the fact that there were three riders returning, where there had been only two riding out. Curiosity made me stay by the window instead of running to Jarvis with the news, to see who had joined the hunters. As they came into the garden, I could make out by the shape under the riding coat and by the sideways seat in the saddle, that the third rider was a woman. She rode a black horse, a mare I guessed by the way its presence had the red stallion tossing his head and dancing over the snow.

Then I tore myself from the strange view and ran to tell the rest of the household the master was returning, with an unexpected guest.

Mr. Stark and the woman retreated to the warm drawing room, and while Jarvis brought them tea and the chef started to prepare dinner, Clint sat by the kitchen table, shivering under a blanket and cradling his own hot cup in his hands, and told me and Sophie what had transpired that day in the forest.

Nothing had been out of the ordinary until past midday, when they had started to turn back towards the house. Mr. Stark had even shot a white winter fox, and Clint had carried home two rabbits. Then, You had picked up a scent which had led them to a clearing where the woman had been sitting on a log, crying. She had been lost during a hunt of her own, separated from her company, and since then she had been riding in circles, attempting to find her way out from the trees.

They had done what they could to find her hunting party, but failed. When dusk came Mr. Stark had taken the woman's gloved hand in his and offered her to come back with him to Ironthorn Hall for the night, so that he could safely return her home in the morning.

Sophie was by then looking at Barton with wide, gleaming eyes. ”Fate must have been smiling upon Mr. Stark this day!” She pressed her clasped hands to her chest. ”Tell me, Clint! Is she pretty? Is she a woman suitable for him?” In her mind the girl had more or less married Mr. Stark off to the woman he had found in the forest, I realized.

”Her horse is one of the finest I have seen”, Clint said, ”and the coat she wears is well made. I believe she comes from a suitable family.” Then he smiled his boyish smile at Sophie, and winked. ”And she is very pretty, indeed!”

'Pretty' turned out to be a lie. I had the opportunity to see this for myself the next day when I caught a glimpse of her in the hallway as she, Mr. Stark and Barton were getting ready to bring the young woman home.

Natasha Romanoff was, without even a shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. The most striking feature in her appearance was her hair. It was a dark yet glowing shade of red unlike anything I had encountered before, rich and stunning, and shaped into luxurious curls falling down her back. Against it her skin was a shimmering shade of pale, completely unlike my own wan pallor. Her face was that of a porcelain doll, smooth perfection in every detail. The gray eyes, clear and observant, were large and set beautifully wide. Under them her face narrowed gently down to her full rosebud of a mouth, which could have been so soft yet held some strange harshness in the lines around it. 

Lingering in the shadows in the stairway above them all I saw her place a small, gloved hand on Mr. Stark's arm, tilt her lovely little head back to smile up at him, and something in my heart shifted at the sight. I stood there, hidden and frozen in place, until long after they had left the house, before I made myself move and go to the library to wait for Mr. Stark to return By then I still thought he would be coming back that day.

He did not.

The following day Barton returned, alone, with the message that Mr. Stark had been invited to stay at the Romanoff house for a week and had accepted the offer. Sophie was beside herself with joy hearing this, and everyone seemed to think it a good thing.

”It is about time he found a lady of the house”, even Thomas commented, as he prepared our lunch. ”He is not a young man any more, and he has been hiding away here for far too long, I would say.”

There was a general agreement following this, and I could not help but wonder why I was unable to join in it. It was nothing but the truth, of that I had no doubt, and still all I could feel was that strange shifting feeling in my heart when I had seen Miss Romanoff's smile.

A week with nothing to do but wait for the master of the house to return home felt somehow infinitely longer than waiting for three weeks had felt before I first met him. And it did nothing to improve my mood. Without Mr. Stark I could not go to the basement to work, and of course there would have been nothing for me to do there without him in any case. Restless and on edge, I kept to myself as the days passed all too slowly for my liking. Hiding away from the rest of the household, most often in the library, I did my best to pass the time reading. Even as I did so, brooding over dusty pages I barely remembered a word of after reading them for hours, I still wondered why. Why could I not join in the other's joyous, hopeful thoughts on the chance meeting between our employer and this gorgeous young woman? Why was I so restless waiting for his return?

I guessed I had grown used to being put to work, to have something meaningful to spend my time doing. To have purpose. Now, it was strange to have nothing to fill my hours and days. I was a tool put down, gathering dust, and I found that I did not enjoy being left unused. But while this would indeed explain the restless boredom, it did nothing to help me understand the empty feeling following me everywhere, a dark shadow in my wake as I wandered the empty halls.

Too young, too inexperienced, I could not make sense of what I felt, even to myself. In this, my heart was a mute. Not because it had nothing to say, but because there was too much it wanted to express. It wanted so much, needed even more, and completely lacked the words to ask for any of it.

All I could do was wait as the days passed slowly, turning into a week, until I one day happened to look outside to see You come running down the driveway, far ahead of Mr. Stark on his red mount. Once more the house went through the same transformation as it had when he had returned home the first time; it lit up and came back to life. And I did the same.

Quicker than I would have thought, everything went back to the way it had been before the hunt. The day after his return home Mr. Stark was ready to get us back to work, and I was happy to do so. More enthusiastic and eager than ever I applied myself to my chores in a new way, and the following days we made some progress. And I was not the only one to engage in the work more than before. My employer's sense of determination was apparent in his eyes and the lines of his face every time he looked at the Arc.

To my surprise, he never once mentioned his week away from the house or the woman he had visited. For some reason this silence was chafing and in the end, I would be the one to break it. It happened on a night when we had spent the entire day making attempts at starting the Arc and failing, over and over, until Mr. Stark finally made a growl of frustration and decided that enough was enough and that it was time for us to leave the underground workroom.

The tips of my hair were singed again, there was soot on my hands and – most likely – on my face. I was sticky with sweat, and so very tired. But when I moved toward the main stairs to go up to my room, Mr. Stark wouldn't let me leave. He ordered Jarvis to bring us both a light supper to the drawing room and then led me there, supporting me with a grip on my elbow when my legs would not carry me all the way.

When the food was brought to us he barely touched it himself, but made sure I ate as much as I could before I started feeling sick. Mutely I placed my plate back on the table between the chairs where we were sitting, and he noticed the way my weak, trembling hand made the thing tilt and shake. As I went to take my hand back he reached out and caught it, too quick for me to escape the touch. His fingers felt searing hot against my skin, and it was only then I realized how cold I really was. This tired and drained, I had lost my hold on the frost inside, and it was filling me.

”I need to take better care of you”, I heard him mutter, my eyes captured by his darker fingers rubbing over the back of my nearly white hand. ”A broken tool is of no use to me. Here.” He pulled his hand back, and offered me his own glass of wine; I had poured only water for myself.

Shaking my head in a mute protest merely made him push the glass into my hand with a growl, and I was forced to catch it or let it tumble into my lap. I had to admit that the drink helped, however. It warmed and soothed me, and when the glass was empty my hands were no longer trembling with cold. After putting it away I leaned back into my chair with a sigh, feeling more at ease than I had in days.

Glancing at Mr. Stark I found him gazing into the glowing embers of the fireplace while fingers ran slowly over and over his goatee in an absently thoughtful gesture. For once he seemed completely unaware of my presence, or of being observed, and somehow seeing him this unguarded once more gave me that feeling of something shifting inside. Of something moving, or falling. And in the same way you are so often unable to keep your tongue away from an aching tooth, I had to prod at what was causing me discomfort now.

”Did you enjoy your visit with Miss Romanoff, sir?”

My words made him startle slightly. Obviously, he had been very far away in thoughts as I spoke. The hand that had been stroking his chin fell into his lap as he turned to look at me, the strangest, most blank expression I had ever seen resting over his dark features. ”What business it that of yours, Loki?”

”None, sir, of course.” The fatigue, or perhaps the wine, or even both, made me careless enough to keep speaking. ”I am merely being curious. I... or rather, we, thought you might have enjoyed your stay, since it lasted so long.”

”I see.” His face remained the same. ”So you all gossip about me. I should not be surprised.” There came a slight tightening around his eyes then. ”Would it please you to know if I enjoyed my week with Miss Romanoff?”

”Sir?” The way he had shifted the conversation from asking how his actions were any of my business, to wondering how I felt about them, had my mind scrambling in an attempt to follow it. ”Miss Romanoff is a beautiful woman.” It was all I found to say, and somehow it felt as if it could serve as an explanation for what I thought.

”So she is.” He left it at that and was silent again for a few moments, before he stood and took the step up to the fireplace where he rested an elbow on the mantelpiece.

For a while I waited for more, then I cleared my throat and stood as well. ”I should retire for the night, sir.”

All he did was nod, and I started walking through the room. I was half way to the archway when he spoke again, and the sound of his voice made me stop, turn and listen.

”To think that I would need something soft and beautiful in my life is all strange and new.” His eyes were still on the embers. ”I am not sure, still, that I do. Perhaps I have never learned what to do with the soft things.”

Unsure of what to say, or if he was even truly speaking to me, I stood silent.

”All I have known is metal, and how would that prepare me for sharing my life with something soft?” Stark turned a glance over his shoulder, and it was obvious that he had, indeed, been speaking to me, and was expecting an answer at that.

”I'm afraid I don't follow, sir.” There was no way to hide my confusion, so I might as well admit to it.

”No, I have come to understand that about you by now. You do many things, but you do not follow.” He was apparently applying a different meaning to the word than I had intended. While I had stated my lack of understanding, he was using it in a literal sense. ”There you stand now, so ready to listen and take anything in.” He turned fully around as he spoke, his blank expression turning into a frown. ”All mild manners, so deceptively soft and pliable. But you are no such thing, are you? They say I am hard as iron, but you? You are steel hidden under that smooth velvet.” With a wave of his hand he indicated the gray jacket I was wearing over the stained shirt I had worked in. ”You let me think you swallow every word I tell you, until something sparks a protest in your mind and your face turns so serious – ah, yes, just like that! - and you tell me 'no, sir' without hesitation, without a flinch. As if I did not own you.”

By now, I was used to his rough ways, the way he so often said things simply in an attempt to get a response out of me, and had learned to keep my calm. This time it was harder than it had been in a while, his words so matter-of-fact it made me bristle inside. Somehow I still managed it.

”You do not own me”, I said, softer than I had thought possible.

”No?” A mirthless smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. ”You are my tool, after all. Bought and paid for.”

”You pay me for my time and my work, sir.” I was still standing in the middle of the floor, with nothing to hold on to, and I felt my hands curl into helpless little fists by my sides. ”That does not mean you own _me_.”

”I do not own you, you tell me. And you will not follow.” The thick eyebrows knitted together over his sharply cut nose. ”So what do I do with you?”

I went to open my mouth, although I did not know what sort of reply I could give, when his hand came up in a stopping gesture.

”No. Quiet. I need no suggestions.” Then he lifted his hand and pointed over my shoulder, to the archway leading out of the room. ”Leave me. I have nothing more to say tonight. We will talk more tomorrow.”

Hesitating for only a moment I turned and left him, not entirely convinced I wished to continue this conversation the next day. But as it turned out, we would not have the opportunity to do so; the world would come between us before that.

* * *

A knock on my door roused me from uneasy sleep very early the next morning. Confused, I rubbed a hand over my face, nearly thinking myself still dreaming, when the knock came again.

”Loki?” It was Jarvis' voice, muted by the thick wood of the door between us.

”A moment, please!” My own voice was so hoarse from sleep I doubted he had even heard me, but instead of repeating my words I threw the covers back and got out of bed on sleep-weakened legs. With fumbling hands I pulled on my pants and a shirt, the buttons on it giving me a nearly endless amount of trouble. Feet still bare, hair hopelessly tangled, I hurried over to the door, wondering what had made the butler come looking for me this early. What could have happened?

Memories of the strange way Mr. Stark had spoken the night before passed before me, and with a twinge of worry I hoped he had not returned to the basement to work in that state. Could he have? By the time I had taken the four long steps to the door, my heart was pounding in my chest. I opened it to find the ever proper Jarvis waiting for me. ”Yes?”

”There is a visitor at the door”, he explained.

In my newly woken up state I at first wondered why he had come to tell me this, why he had not gone to the master of the house. Why was I suddenly expected to greet a visitor? Then I made myself think clearly, and blinked up at the tall man when realization came. ”A visitor asking for me?”

”Yes.” There was a small sigh chasing the word, letting me know that I was indeed slow this morning. ”A man introducing himself as Doctor Banner.”

”Oh!” A strange blend of emotions filled my heart when I heard the name. There was worry there, because I knew he would have a pressing, urgent reason to come searching for me, but I was also happy, knowing I would see someone I had missed for a long time. 

”I take it that you do know this man?” Jarvis raised a gray eyebrow.

”Yes!” I got my hands up to fasten the last couple of buttons on my shirt, trying to calm myself down as I did so. ”Yes, I do. Please, tell him I will be there in a moment, Jarvis. I need to dress, then I will be there.”

”Of course.” He gave me a small smile then, likely at my sudden excitement. ”I will bring him to the west reception room to wait for you.”

”Thank you!”

I quickly shut the door, nearly in the man's face, and rummaged around my room for socks, shoes, a jacket – any bloody jacket! - and then forced myself to stop in front of the mirror to get my tousled hair in something resembling order before I rushed out of the room. Someone had come asking for me, and I had forgotten all about the joy of seeing a familiar face, until the opportunity presented itself.

Banner was in nearly all things the same as he had been the last time I met him, at Starwood. A bit more lined, a bit gray around the temples, but still as timidly folded in on himself, moving just as softly, and with the same gentle, closed lipped smile. Judging by the way his eyes took me in when he saw me, I suspected that I was not in as many ways the same as he remembered me.

”Loki.” He smiled and came to give me a quick little one-armed embrace before backing away again, twining his fingers together. ”It is good to see you again.”

”You too, doctor.” I returned the smile.

”I'm afraid I come on a troubling errand, however.” The dark eyes turned serious. ”And there is not much time.” He sighed. ”Your uncle is dying, Loki.”

It felt like a blow in the center of my chest. My heart stuttered and I forgot about breathing for a moment. So much time had passed when I hadn't thought about what little family I had in this world, or the memories of my childhood. It washed over me like cold water would, and I shuddered at the shock of it. No words, no questions, could find their way out of my mouth.

Banner came forward again to place a hand on my back, leading me to a small sofa by the windows. My numb feet would hardly move, and I nearly fell into the seat. The doctor sat down beside me, clearing his throat nervously.

”Odin has been heavily burdened these last few years, running the estate, preparing for the future, and the strain finally drove him to suffer an apoplexy. He has recovered somewhat, but I know he will not last much longer.” Banner lowered his eyes to his lap, where his hands were rubbing against each other ceaselessly. ”At first, he lost his ability to speak. Then, when he recovered it, he... said your name.” He glanced up at me again. ”He asked for you. At first, I thought him delirious, but he kept asking to see you. So at last I wrote to Frigga, to find out where you were, and came here.”

”Are you asking me to go to Ravenshead? To my uncles death bed?” My voice sounded distant.

”I am.” Banners own voice grew more firm. ”Yes, Loki, I know you hold no love for the place, or the man, and I do not blame you. But it might give him some peace, in the end.” He leaned closer, catching my eyes. ”And you.”

Swallowing, I looked away from him, my own hands now gripping each other hard enough to ache. There were few things I would wish for as little as seeing Ravenshead, or Odin's face, once again, but I knew there was wisdom in the doctor's advice. I could refuse – of course I could refuse – but I would never get the opportunity to make peace with my past again if I did. Perhaps there was no peace to be found even if I did go there again, but if I refused, I would never know.

”I must ask permission to leave Ironthorn Hall”, I sighed, meeting the dark eyes again. ”But if it is granted, I will come with you. When do we leave?”

”As soon as you have packed.”

Part of me hoped no such permission would be given, that the decision to leave would in the end be taken out of my hands. At the same time I knew that Mr. Stark would not refuse. He was, truly, not that coldhearted. 

So I made myself go ask for something I did not really want.

I found Mr. Stark in his study, where Jarvis directed me when I asked after him, and his voice called for me to enter after a gentle knock. It was a room close to the library and very different from his workroom, warmed by wood panels along the walls and filled with daylight falling in through high windows. My employer was sitting behind a desk reminiscent of the one off the workspace, filled with an ordered chaos of books and papers.

The conversation from last night was still filling the air between us with some tension I could not make sense of, and it made me nervous about coming to him with a request. Was he still angry with me? I had overstepped a line, and acted a fool. He had every right to be annoyed, and perhaps he would simply brush me off now, refuse me.

”I am very sorry to have to disturb you, sir”, I began, carefully measuring my words and my tone. ”But I received a message that my uncle has asked for me, and I feel I have to go to him.”

He leaned back in the chair, the thick brows low. ”Uncle? Is this one of the relatives who would not welcome you back when you left Starwood?”

Surprised that he remembered what I had told him what felt like so long ago, I nodded. ”He is. Now he is dying, sir, and I think... I feel I should...” Faltering, I blinked down at the carpet under my shoes. ”I think I am obliged to -” I cut myself off and quickly raised my head when I saw other shoes, much larger, come into view.

Mr. Stark was standing just an arm's length away from me. ”I understand”, he said, more softly than I had ever heard him speak before. ”How long?”

”Perhaps... a week? I do not know, sir. Really. Two?”

With a sigh, he seemed to turn more annoyed again, and for some reason the shift calmed me. The gentle words had stirred my heart in a worrying way I couldn't grasp.

”I suppose I will have to do without you then. Bothersome, but there you have it.”

”Thank you, sir.”

I thought he would show me out again then, but instead his brown eyes searched my face for what felt like a very long time, a frown showing on his face, deepening with every moment. ”A month”, he growled at last, sounding as if it pained him to promise that much, and I couldn't understand why he did it, since it was more than I had asked for. ”Take a month. If you need it.”

”That is... very generous, sir.”

”I _am_ very generous.” The dark scowl went badly with the words, but I didn't let it deter me.

”In that case”, I started before I could lose my courage completely, ”there is another matter I need to bring to your attention.”

”Oh?”

”Sir”, I murmured, looking down, unable to meet his eyes as I continued, ”I have not received any payment since I arrived at Ironthorn Hall.”

”Is that so?” Mr. Stark heaved a sigh, so heavy I had to turn my eyes back to his face, which was weary in the slanted morning light. ”And traveling costs money, I take it?”

”So it is.” I let that be the answer for both his questions.

He reached for a wallet in his jacket then, and counted out coins. Large ones. Then he caught my hand in a rough grip and pressed them all into my palm, before almost hesitantly releasing me. A strange contrast to the careless way he had grabbed me to begin with.

I looked at my hand, the coins, and then back up at his face. ”I cannot accept this.”

”Why the hell not?” The scowl, which had almost softened, came back.

”This is nearly...” I ran the fingers of my other hand through the money, counting in my head once more, before raising my head again. ”Nearly three times the amount you owe me, sir.”

”There's just no pleasing some creatures, is there?” With a grumble, he grabbed my hand again, just as roughly. ”Well, giving you too much might make you stay away too long anyway.” He swatted away my other, still hovering hand and took half of the coins back, shoving them down a pocket in his pants. ”Better?”

”Yes. Thank you, sir.”

When he let me go this time I placed the coins in my own pocket, and when I looked back up he was staring at me. The scowl was gone, but there was still something dark in his face, and something searching in his eyes.

”And now what?”

”I believe this is where we say goodbye.” Someone had to be the voice of reason and common courtesy, after all.

Mr. Stark frowned. ”And how do we do that?”

”Perhaps a handshake would be fitting, sir?”

”Like we are strangers, once more? I think not.” As he spoke, he took half a step forward, bringing him much closer, and suddenly I had to tilt my head nearly all the way back to see his face. ”Think of something better.”

I couldn't. All I could do, was shake my head.

”Then I will have to think of something myself.”

The moment he touched me then, I knew everything was about to change. Not because I was very experienced with the nature of human touch, but perhaps rather because I was not. Growing up, all I had known was being shoved or pushed, hit or smacked, until there had come Banner's gentle hand, ruffling my hair. And that had changed everything. Until Frigga's soft fingers on my cheek, which had changed everything even more profoundly. 

Before, Mr. Stark had never hit me, but his few touches had been just as rough as the way he had just grabbed my hand. Pulling me out of the way when he was working. Shifting me into place where he wanted me. Pushing me down into a seat when he would have me seated. Never to harm, never harshly, simply too impatient to ask or show what he wanted. Ordering me with his hands instead of words. Now, Stark's hands were suddenly around my shoulders, huge, warm, close, not to move but just to hold. It was all new and different, on its own, and even more so when I met his eyes. The brown color that had once been so cool, and then turned so much softer, was now full of glowing heat. Even with my lack of experience I knew what it had to mean. Instinct is a powerful thing, after all, with its own knowledge.

I lowered my head, hiding from those eyes, and noticed that my hands had come up to rest against his broad chest. They looked thinner and more frail than ever there, and trying to push away, I felt weak. Not only because his arms came down around my back, strong and firm, iron beams, holding me close, but mostly because I _was_ weak, and not just in body.

I lacked conviction.

”Will you not look at me, Loki?” His voice was as soft as his eyes had been before, and it tricked me. 

Thinking the danger over, I raised my chin again, only to find that the heat was still there. Capturing me.

For a moment, in the space of a single, painful heartbeat, I hated him. The _man_ in him. The stubborn, relentless creature that he was, so unable to let go of any idea or notion, no matter how insane or inappropriate. And still I had to wonder how I could hate him? In this moment, I was after all just as unable to stop myself as he was.

His arms drew me closer, catching mine completely between us, making them even more useless than they had been. Then his head tilted forward. Slowly, giving me time to utter any and all protests I might have wanted to air. And I should have had protests. And I should have made them heard. But I had none, and I could not. I could only wait, frozen, as his head came down, and his mouth gently settled over mine.

It was the first kiss of this kind in my life, and even though what flitted through my mind was how wrong it was, I couldn't bring myself to wish it undone. And to this day, I do not regret it.

Mr. Stark's lips, full compared to my thin ones, were soft and warm as they shaped themselves to mine. His goatee scratched at me but not in an unpleasant way, and it was not enough to distract me as the tip of his hot tongue came to slide over the seam of my own lips. Begging to be let in. I found myself unable to deny it.

As my lips parted to him, I felt one of his hands move up between my shoulder blades, over my neck, under my hair, to cradle the back of my head, tilting it gently to the side. The angle made our mouths fit together more perfectly than I could have thought possible. He tasted faintly of rich wine, something spicy, and under it all just sweetly warm and himself.

My fingers, moving on their own, curled around the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer still, even though it was most likely an impossible wish. Somehow, he still granted it.

When he drew back again I had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been eons as well as moments. He didn't pull all the way back from me but let go of my mouth and straightened to look down at me. He still had one arm firmly around my back, holding me close, while the hand in my hair moved to cup my face, so large against my cheek. So warm.

”You _are_ coming back here, are you not?”

It took me a moment to find my voice, and the wait, no matter how small, made his brow knit. ”I am, sir.” Where else in the world would I go?

”Then go, since you must. And come back when you can.” He ran his thumb along my cheekbone. Then he let me go completely and turned away from me, to disappear from the room in long strides.

On weak knees I stood staring after him for a long time, as if the door he had left by could explain to me what had just happened. I pressed my hands to my chest, feeling my heart gradually start to slow until the frantic beating no longer hurt my ribs. My mind had never been as blank as it was in those moments. Confusion did not even remotely begin to cover the state of me.

In the end I made myself move and leave the room as well. I had packing to see to, after all.


	4. Vain, Greedy, Cruel

By the time my bag was packed and loaded on the roof of the carriage, and Banner and I where seated ready to leave Ironthorn Hall, I was still reeling.

Staring through the frosty window to avoid the doctor's eyes I felt my frantic mind try and make sense of everything that had happened this strange morning. It was torn between guessing at what might have driven Odin to call for me when he was facing death, and what might have driven Mr. Stark to kiss me. I was still unsure about which of these things confused me more. 

Odin. My uncle. A man who had had nothing but contempt and raging hate for me the last time I had seen him. Why would he want to have me by his side now, of all times? Surely his own son would be there to care for him?

The kiss... I my mind, I wondered if it could be something I, in my inexperience, had misinterpreted or read too much into. The more I thought it over, however, the more certain I became that this was not the case. Mr. Stark had not given me a friendly peck on the cheek, not even an affectionate but chaste brush over my lips. No, none of it. Even I knew that this had been a kiss, a very real one.

What to make of it? That I didn't know. At all. And since it would be a long time before I would get the chance to see Mr. Stark again and find out what it might have meant to him, if anything at all, I decided to pretend it had never happened. For now. Dwelling on it would not help me at the moment, even though the memory was a warm, glowing thing I longed to keep close. But I made myself wrap it up and tuck it away in the back of my mind, where it would keep for later inspection.

Instead, I let myself focus on the more immediate issue of my return to Ravenshead.

Turning from the window, I found Banner watching me, his dark eyes worried. ”Did my uncle say why he wished to see me?” I asked, pulling the collar of my coat higher around my throat, more to hide myself from his eyes than from the cold. Knowing what I was hiding at the back of my mind made me feel self-conscious in an unfamiliar way.

Banner shook his head. ”He did not have the strength for more than to repeat your name, asking that we bring you. I honestly think that he had forgotten that you had left Ravenshead, that you had been gone for years.”

Perhaps it had been so. Or perhaps he had still expected his will to be done, at once, no matter what it was.

”I assume my cousin is there already?”

A strange look passed over the doctor’s face then. ”Well, yes, he is”, he said, hesitantly.

I raised an eyebrow. Something was wrong. ”But?”

He hesitated more this time, heaved a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face, and then moved it up into his as always rumpled hair. ”I might as well tell you the whole sorry thing now. You will find out soon enough anyway, and this way you will be prepared.”

Swallowing, I waited to see what would come. And then Banner told me everything he knew about what had happened to Thor, and Odin, since I had left.

For three years my cousin had stayed at Ravenshead, growing ever more restless and causing no end of trouble and destruction in the house. At the age of eighteen he had, against his father's wishes, packed his things, stolen a large sum of money and left for the city, to make his fortune. Thor had not done well there. He had spent much of the money on drink, or worse things. And on women. The rest he had gambled away. When he could have made deals to earn himself more, or used his good name to find honest work, he had instead ended up taking loans, landing himself in debt with all the wrong kinds of people. Broke, he had written home to beg his father for more money, and Odin had given it to him, as he had always done before. 

Perhaps Odin had hoped that Thor would see sense this time, and spend the money more wisely? At least that was Banner's guess for the old man's reason to give in to his son's request. If so, Odin had been wrong. After paying the most threatening lenders, Thor had returned to drinking and gambling, and it wasn't long before he was in the same situation he had found himself before, only slightly worse.

Again, he had written to his father, begging for help. Again, Odin had given it. Only to see his help squandered once more.

I could not claim to be surprised at hearing this. How would my cousin have learned to show restraint or responsibility when it had never been asked of him before? Thor had always been allowed free rein, and it was obvious that he would expect the same from the rest of the world as well.

The third time Thor had written to ask for money, Odin had finally refused him. Shocked by this, and very likely also running from people demanding their money back, with interest, Thor had left the city and come back home. Back at Ravenshead, he had once more asked for – no, demanded! - money from his father.

”They had a falling out”, Banner said, and behind those mild words I saw a hint of the chaos it must have been; two men who were unyielding forces of nature, clashing. ”The servants told me there was shouting, and it might have come to blows, if Odin had not instead been struck by illness, and fallen to the floor. Thor called for help, but there was no-one who could care for him. I was summoned, and I have been doing what I can for the old man since, but there is not much I _can_ do for him, except make sure he is comfortable.”

Nodding, I considered this in silence for some time. It had done nothing to help me understand why Odin had asked for me.

”Is Frigga well?” When speaking up at last, I chose to change the subject to one more dear to me.

”Very well, Loki.” He smiled at me. ”She sends her love. She was proud to send you out into the world.”

This warmed my heart more than I could say, and I promised myself I would sit down and write to my old teacher, to send her my love in return. In truth, I should have done so a long time ago.

Even though we had left Ironthorn Hall so early in the day it was well into the night before we reached the gates of Ravenshead. I would have expected everyone to have gone to bed a long time ago, but when we entered the house lamps were still burning in the reception room to the right of the hallway. Glancing through the door, I caught sight of a blond head of hair over the back of the sofa, and I knew who it had to be.

A servant girl, too young to have worked here in my childhood, came to take my bag and coat to the room where I would stay.

Banner left to see how my uncle was faring.

I decided I might as well face my cousin at once, rather than wait until the morning. Combing my fingers through my hair, straightening my waistcoat, I walked into the room where Thor was sitting, possibly waiting. As I rounded the sofa and got a closer look at him, I realized I probably would not have known him if I had seen him somewhere else. 

Thor was leaning forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, and holding a nearly empty glass of wine in his large, trembling hands. The blond hair I had known from my childhood was darker now, and dirty, hanging in heavy tangles around his face, which was covered in a far too rugged beard. Under it, his golden skin seemed sallow, the blue eyes were sunken and no longer flashing bright. His shoulders were still wide, but tensely pulled up to his ears in a way I had never seen before.

When he caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye, he turned to stare. For a long time, there was no sign on his face that he knew me. Then he blinked, slowly, and a sluggishly concentrated frown formed on his features.

”Loki?” He sat up straight in his seat to get a better look at me. ”If I did not know better, I would guess that's you.”

”Why would this not be me?” I stood still in the light from the lamp on the table to let him study my appearance, but of course I understood his doubts. Very likely I had even less in common with the child he remembered than he had with his old self. That tiny, frightened thing had in many ways been a different kind of creature than I was now. Still small, but no longer cowering in the shadows.

His eyes traveled over me. Taking in my hair, which he would remember as short, now long enough to reach below my shoulders in slight waves. The rather simple but well-made clothes I wore were very different from the time when I had been dressed in the worn hand-me-downs from Thor's own childhood.

”Well, you are here, for one thing”, he said when he had finally returned his stare to my face. ”I would never have thought to see you in this house again. And yet...” He made a gesture to sum me up from head to toe. ”Here you are.”

I had to admit to myself that he had a point. After all, I had thought I would one day be back in this house.

”I am”, I agreed.

”I would have thought it more likely that you would have turned up dead somewhere by now”, Thor muttered, bringing his glass to lips already stained red by the drink. ”Like your mother.”

There was nothing I could say to that, so I stayed silent.

”Well, soon my father will be leaving this world as well.” It seemed that he was speaking more to his empty glass than to me. ”They will expect me to settle here and be the master of this house in the middle of this godsforsaken nowhere.” He gave dismissive little snort. ”Why would I?”

”It is your birthright”, I said simply and softly, and saw his head snap up at the sound.

Thor blinked at me again, as if he was once more surprised to see me. ”For years, I thought you envied it”, he said. 

Now, it was my turn to be surprised. I felt myself straighten up even more, my eyes going wide. In so many things I had compared myself to him while growing up, and found myself lacking. Many things I had envied and wished I could be. But being the heir to Ravenshead? No, that had never been one of those things. I shook my head, by far too stunned to give any other reply.

He scoffed at that. ”Wise.”

Then he lapsed into silence and appeared to forget about me again. It was strange to see him so lost in his own world, Thor, who had ever been the glowing, charismatic center of attention, eager to draw any eye. Quietly I turned away and left him there, to go find my room. I was tired after this overwhelming day, the long journey, and I still did not know what to expect from the next day.

Part of me was nearly ready to guide my steps to the small, hidden away room where I had lived as a child, but the servant girl was waiting for me by the stairs. She led me to one of the well furnished guestrooms at the front of the house, nearly as far from my old quarters as one could possibly get, in any sense. My few possessions were already unpacked, and a lamp was burning on the nightstand, the flame turned low. I thanked her and sent her away.

After undressing I climbed into the waiting bed, pulled the covers over me, and stared out into the unfamiliar shadows cast by the dim light of the lamp. I had somehow feared that being back under this roof would make me feel like a child again, but I needn't have worried, there was far too much on my mind to dwell on childhood. In fact, I couldn't even dwell on the meeting with my cousin and everything it had stirred up inside me; my mind and heart were already full.

The warm thoughts and bright memories I had decided to wrap up and hide away in the back of my mind during the journey here were now slipping my grasp. They would not let me keep them back any longer, and started flooding back in. Suddenly my mind's eye saw nothing but darkly heated eyes, and the memory of the kiss was so vivid I could feel the smooth texture of lips against mine. Of course, this was exactly the reason I had wanted to keep these thoughts stored away. Now, they burned and seared me. My lips felt sore, as if the mere memory of the kiss had chafed against them, neatly trimmed beard rubbing against my skin. Just as it had then, my heart was beating a frantic rhythm, my breath became strangely ragged, and my fingers were grasping at the linens, as if there was a man in front of me, even now, to pull closer.

Shifting under the covers, restless and uneasy, I found no comfortable position. When I turned over on my front, I was simultaneously shocked and not at all surprised to feel how hard I was. A soft little whine escaped me at the friction against the sheets, and I smothered the faint sound in the pillow. I found myself pressing my hips against the mattress, seeking more of it, before I remembered where I was and stopped myself. An ache still lingered, however, and my hands were fists in the cloth.

Sleep eluded me even long after the lamp had gone out and left me in darkness. When I did sleep the kiss still followed me into my dreams, and it never seemed to end.

* * *

Predictably, this night left me tired the next day, and strangely enough still restless. I once more put the thoughts of the kiss aside, and wondered what this day might have in store for me.

At the breakfast set at the table in the dining room, I found doctor Banner with only a book for company. He seemed happy enough to put it to the side when he noticed me approaching, however, and even gestured for me to sit in the chair on his right.

”You look tired, Loki”, his soft voice pointed out as he reached for the pot of tea. ”You did not sleep well?”

”I did not”, I admitted, picking at a piece of toasted bread. 

”Small wonder.” Banner gave me a faint but warm smile. Of course, the reasons for my lack of sleep would be completely different from anything he might have guessed, but I couldn't tell him that.”Still, I'm glad you chose to come back here with me.”

Putting the torn bread back on the plate, I looked up at him. The words had sounded to me like they meant more than the reasons he had given the day before, to convince me of the good it might do. ”You are?”

”I am.” His smile widened. ”Over the years, I have brought a number of children to Starwood, children I found in my work as a doctor, helped find a place. Out of all of them, I remember you most clearly.” The dark eyes under his heavy brows were as kind as always. ”I always hoped you would grow to be more than what you were allowed to be here. And seeing you now? Well, I know you are.”

Blinking away the burn of tears, I made myself return his smile. ”Thank you, doctor Banner”, I said, meaning it with all my heart. ”For helping me.”

”You did most of it yourself.” His untidy head tilted so he could sip from his cup. ”Frigga told me how hard you worked. You were a few years older than most of the children she teaches, and every year makes it harder to learn, but you did well. She is very proud of you.”

Now I couldn't really hold the tears back anymore, and I instead lowered my head to wipe them away before they became too obvious. I was not used to any sort of praise, and knowing that Frigga had seen my hard work an appreciated the outcome meant more to me than I could ever express. My smile was still in place when I looked up at him again, though. ”If I write Frigga a letter, would you bring it to her the next time you visit Starwood?”

The little smile he offered me in return made me believe he already knew how I felt. ”Of course.” He reached out to give me a timid little pat on my shoulder, before hiding his hand in his lap again.

The rest of the morning meal passed in a comfortable, friendly silence, but when we were done Banner said it was time to find out if my uncle was ready to see me. Any and all sense of comfort left me at that. I still hummed some agreement, and followed him to Odin's chambers. 

The doctor asked me to wait outside, and then stepped inside to see what state the old man was in today, if he would be able to handle the strain. I couldn't keep from pacing the hallway until he came back out. He wore a frown, but nodded slowly.

”He is tired and feverish, but he still demands to see you”, Banner murmured, nearly wringing his hands. ”Loki, you need to know that his mind...” He sighed. ”His mind is not all there. I am not even sure he will know you are here when he sees you, or what he might say. Just remember that he is old, and sick, and try not to take whatever he says to heart.”

I nodded slowly, with so many words on my tongue they crowded each other out, leaving nothing for me to say. Of course I didn't expect him to know me; after all, Thor had barely known me the night before. But then, my cousin's mind did not seem all there either. And whatever my uncle might say, I doubted it could be worse than anything he had already told me as a child.

The doctor gave a short little nod in answer, and stepped aside to let me into the room. ”I will be waiting right here. Call if you need me.” Not waiting for me to reply, he closed the door behind me, and then I was alone with Odin.

He looked so much smaller than I remembered him where he was resting under the covers, sunken and diminished. There were drops of sweat beading his wrinkled forehead and lined cheeks over the now all gray beard. His hair had turned white and thin. The leather patch which had ever covered his lost eye was gone, showing a scarred lid over the hollow where the globe should have been. Only his hands seemed the same, resting on the blanket, huge and heavy. I remembered how they had felt grabbing me in anger, but I swallowed it all down.

There was a bowl on the nightstand, with some water on the bottom and a damp cloth hanging over the side. I sat down in the chair pulled up by the side of the bed, wet the cloth and wrung it out, so I could dab the sweat from his face. 

The touch, or perhaps the cool water, made him stir and blink his one eye open. The once so steely gray was matted now, and when the blank look in it passed over my face without any hint of a reaction, I thought that Banner had been right, and that he wouldn't know me. Then he pulled in a slow breath, and his brow furrowed.

”You have a familiar face.” His voice was hoarse and broken, with not much left of the roar I remembered. ”It reminds me of someone I knew.” He tried to swallow and failed.

I found a glass of water behind the bowl and put it to his lips, attempting to support his head as he sipped from it. That seemed to make him exhausted, and he closed his eye again. I sat still, waiting.

”Laufey.” The name came on a sigh, and when it had been spoken his mouth twisted, as if it had left a bad taste behind. ”You remind me of her. That pale little face, those pale green eyes... Yes, Laufey.” He had still not opened his eye. ”I could never stand the woman. They loved her. My wife, her parents... But I knew she was never as sweet as they thought her. And then”, he huffed, ”then she ran off, with some scoundrel.”

I barely dared to breathe, afraid I would cut him off and never get to hear what he had to say. This was something I had never heard the tale of’ before. It was the story of my parents, of _me_ , and I had never known it.

”My wife cried, the foolish woman. And then she cried even more when her sister died giving birth to some sickly little child. A bastard, of course; the man she gave up everything for had never married her.” Odin growled. ”She made me take the child in. Made me!” The last exclamation forced a cough out of him, and he turned his head away from me. ”Made me promise, before she died, that I raise the child as my own. I was forced to suffer Laufey's son under my roof for ten years. But never as mine. No, I couldn't...”

I felt my hands then, clenched into fists so hard they ached, and my nails had cut my palms bloody. It reminded me of the uncontrolled ice that had cut me the last time he had spoken to me.

Odin stayed silent for a while, pulling one labored breath after another. Then, slowly, he turned his head back, opened his eye and looked straight at my face. Some of the steel glint in it was back now, and I knew that he knew me; that was the way he had always looked at me as a boy, hard and cold and distant.

”Loki.” My name got the same treatment as my mother's had. ”You were a trial. Strange little creature. Imp!” He scoffed. ”I never knew what to do with you. Tried my patience, with your vicious secrets and your stubborn silence and that _face_ , ever reminding me of your mother. Mocking me, from beyond the grave.”

How I wondered at his words, and the things he had seen in me, in the scared, lonely child I had been, a boy who had never wanted anything but to be treated fairly. 

”Ungrateful.” Hi sighed, and turned away again. ”And now, my son is the same. What influence did you and your magics have on him, I wonder? Growing up in the same house as you? He was meant for greatness, my Thor.”

So, I was blamed for my cousin's fall from grace? It shouldn't really have surprised me, yet it still did.

”All he does now is beg me for more money to spend on nothing but filth and foolishness. My boy is far too vain, and greedy", Odin sighed. ”He will ruin this house, sooner rather than later, I have no doubt.”

Oh, how badly I wanted to add _cruel_ to that list! But doing so would have made me the same. Bad enough that Odin had to know the truth of the shortcomings he had mentioned himself, and of course, they were true. Even as a boy Thor had thought too highly of himself, although it was in some ways hard to blame him, considering he had never been able to do anything wrong in the eyes of his father or the servants. Of course he had become greedy, expecting to have anything he wanted - and preferring to break or destroy anything he could not have, rather than see someone else with it. So I left it at that, even though my face still carried the thin, silvery scar Thor's last act of cruelty had marked me with.

Once I would have eagerly taken the opportunity to have vengeance, and I would not have let the fear of being cruel stop me. Now, sitting by the bedside of this helpless, dying man, I no longer felt the need for it. Less than an hour ago, I had been told someone I loved and admired was proud of me. My own hard work had built me up, from the deep, dark place where this man had left me. I did not need to step on his suffering to get me closer the the light now, as I once would have. The man I was knew more of my worth than the boy I had been.

The anger and hate I had carried for so long, hidden away in the depths of my heart, had disappeared. And I had never even noticed when they left me. In finding a purpose, a place, and applying myself to a greater good, I had simpy forgotten.

The man had hated me since before he had even laid eyes on me, and he had let me know it. I doubted that there would come anything to change it now, in his last days in this world, that he would put his feelings aside and find peace. Now, all I felt for him was pity that he had held on to that old hatred for so long. 

Well, let him blame me for his own shortcomings. Let him claim I had been the cause of his son's ruin. If it helped him, let him. To me, it made no difference anymore.

But there was no peace for me in it either, not truly. I merely felt empty.

Odin's one eye glared up at me then. ”I knew you would be envious of him. That mother of yours...” He had to pause for a breathless cough. ”She left you nothing.”

”No, she did leave me something”, I murmured, dabbing the damp cloth over his furrowed brow. It was the first words I had spoken since I entered the room. ”She left me my magic, and with its help I have found myself a place, and a purpose. I would have nothing of what I have if not for that, and what I have, I am grateful for.”

There was joy for me in the fact that I did not say any of this to take revenge on him. Yes, I was proud of what I had made of myself, but there was no gloating in my heart. My intent was not to rub any of it in his face; I was merely stating the simple truth, and I was pleased that it was enough, for myself if not for anyone else. That was all that mattered.

For a few moments, he blinked up at me. Then he closed his eye again, a couple of his large fingers moving in what must have been meant to be a dismissive gesture. ”Leave. Let me rest.”

And I did.

* * *

Odin never spoke to me again. He fell in a deep slumber that day, from which he never awoke fully. Banner watched over him day and night, and I often joined him. We would sit in silence, waiting at the end of every breath to see if it would be the last. Thor never came to his father's side that I saw, not even once.

The man who had been my uncle in name if not by blood died five days after I had returned to Ravenshead.

I do not think I felt anything. There was no sorrow, no regret, nor any hate or anger. I didn't believe that to be peace, but perhaps it would come, in time.

* * *

I remained at Ravenshead for nearly three weeks. Why, I couldn't say. At first I had intended to travel back to Ironthorn Hall as soon as my uncle was dead, but then Banner asked my help in arranging for the funeral. Thor was no help. He merely shrugged at every question about what his father would have wanted, demanding only that we make the ceremony as cheap as possible, so as not to waste his inheritance, before he went to refill his glass. Seeing Banner's shoulders slump with the responsibility, I agreed to stay and help him.

Then, I ended up staying for the funeral. It was a pyre, built in the ancient traditions of Odin's fathers, and the fire against the snow felt strangely cleansing.

I had definitely intended to leave after that. But then Thor, who had mostly stayed far away from me, came to seek me out, and he would not let me leave until I had helped him find and read his father's will, and any other documents regarding the ownership of Ravenshead, or what sort of funds he had. He never said it aloud, but the questions he asked told me that he intended to sell his childhood home as soon as he could. Most of the things I read and explained to him he forgot almost at once, and I promised that I would put what he needed to know in writing.

Odin was barely put to rest, and the son he had meant for greatness was already planning to undo everything his father had left him. It made me sad, more than anything else, but I still helped Thor put his father's papers in order 

When I did, I had to search through a lot of my uncle's personal belongings. Most of it meant nothing to me, but hidden deep in a drawer in his desk I found something that meant everything. 

Rummaging around among the papers, my hand hit something hard and more by instinct than anything else, I caught it in my fingers and pulled it free. It turned out to be a rather small but elegantly framed painting, a portrait of two young women. One was sitting on a high-backed chair, her back straight and an arm raised to hold the other woman’s hand in hers. She was dressed in a dress in a dusky pink color, her hair fell in golden curls around her shoulders, and her sweet, heart-shaped face was smiling at me. I knew her face from other painted portraits I had seen in the house, although she had been older there; this was my aunt.

My eyes went to the woman standing by her side, holding her hand so gently. Her dress was green, but her hair had the same golden color falling around her narrower, paler face. There was a hint of green in her eyes, and her smile was smaller than her sister's. I could understand, then, why Odin had said that I reminded him of Laufey; I did indeed have my mother's face. Because this had to be my mother, most likely painted when she had been younger than I was now.

I put a finger to the portrait and ran the fingertip along her golden hair. That I did not have after her, which made me certain my black hair was something I had after my father. Realizing this, I also realized in the same instant that this fact was the only thing I knew of the man who had fathered me. Taking my hand from the little painting, I lifted my fingers to run them through a length of my own hair, now knowing it to be a link between me and my unknown past.

Once, Odin had said that he had no idea what sort of monster my mother had bedded to get me. I no longer thought myself a monster, and I doubted my father had been one either. But who he had been, truly, I would most likely never know. No-one had ever even told me his name.

The day after I found the portrait, I decided I had had enough. There was nothing left for me here – less than nothing, even – and I needed to return to Ironthorn Hall. I needed to once more be needed, even if it was as nothing more than a tool. 

Yet in my heart, I hoped I _was_ more.


	5. Perfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is another monster of a chapter. (13K oh my god what have I done?) And I changed the rating to mature because of... *clears throat* ...reasons.)

Nearly the whole month Mr. Stark had given me had passed when I finally returned to Ironthorn Hall. By then the snow was gone, leaving the gardens muddy and covered in dull shades of yellow and brown. Together with the gray stones of the building it did not make for an uplifting view, but I was still happy to see the place I now thought of as home. 

It actually seemed that the rest of the household was happy to see me return as well. As soon as I had unpacked and washed the journey off my face, I was seated to a meal in the kitchen where the others welcomed me back and asked a long line of questions about my absence. They had obviously known nothing of where I had gone, and I tried to explain why I had left without getting into too many details. Not until the meal was over did I dare ask a question of my own, and when I did it was to find out how the master of the house was faring.

”Well enough, I should say”, Jarvis replied. ”He has been working far too hard, of course, as he always does. Hardly ever leaving the study.”

The last word eased the worry that had been growing in my heart. I had feared Mr. Stark would be too impatient to wait for me to return and instead keep making attempts at starting the Arc without me, but he seemed to have been wise enough to stay away. I was relieved and also slightly surprised; it would have been so like him to throw all caution to the wind.

This also made me expect to be summoned by Mr. Stark at once, ready to get back to the work he had been forced to neglect in my absence. Instead the afternoon turned into night, and there was no word from my employer at all. He remained locked in his study, even though he had to know I had returned by now. Jarvis must have told him, bringing him tea or supper. Since I didn't dare go there to find out for myself, I assumed I would not be needed at all this day, and retreated for the night, strangely disappointed.

It was barely dawn when there came a knock on my door the next morning. Unlike my last morning in the house however, I was already awake when the sound came. To be honest, I had barely even slept at all to begin with. This time I gave no answer, but simply slid out of the bed to quickly pull on pants and shirt, closing just enough buttons for decency, and went to open the door.

Seeing Mr. Stark standing in the dark hallway, dressed in his simple work clothes and with a candlestick in his hand came as no surprise to me at all. Somehow, I had known it would be him. Or perhaps I was merely confusing knowledge with the wish to see his again?

His eyes flitted over my rumpled clothes, then back to my face. ”Dress yourself properly”, he said, as his first greeting after my month away. ”We have work to do.” Not bothering with waiting for a reply, the words in fact not even all the way out of his mouth, he turned to walk towards the stairs.

For a moment I stared at the light disappearing down the hall, then I went back into my room to finish dressing, light a candle of my own, and followed. I found the door to the spiral staircase unlocked and waiting half open for me, so I walked inside and closed it behind me. The key was left in the lock on the inside, which was simpler than the lock on the outside. After locking it, as I knew he had meant for me to do, I took the key with me down into the windowless workroom.

Mr. Stark had lit some of the lamps and now he was standing with his back to the door, hands clasped behind him, and studied the glass of the Arc. He had to have heard me close the door and walk up to stand by his side, but he didn't look over his shoulder, or speak. When I stopped beside him he simply held his hand out to me, and I placed the key on the upturned palm.

”Now”, he said, as he put it into a pocket on his waistcoat, ”we can get to work.”

It very soon became obvious that he had been making plans for his project while I had been away. He made me help him reposition things, change angles, placements. All the while he consulted a worn notebook he pulled from a pocket, before moving on to the next stage. Even though he lit no fires I never had cause to call for my magic, I was soon sweaty in the still air of the room, and very tired. Mr. Stark, being so much stronger, barely noticed any of it, until I nearly dropped a tool I was handing him. By then it had to be the middle of the day, and I had never even been allowed breakfast – or asked for it, for that matter.

”I seem to have demanded too much of you”, he said, taking the tool from me, only to put it down on the floor where he was squatted down. He stood up so he could look down at me.

”Of course not, sir”, I assured him, as if I didn't have to struggle to stand up straight. 

His gaze traveled over me, taking me in. ”Hm. I see.” He hummed some more, seemingly to himself. ”We leave it like this for today, I say. You need to eat, and rest. You'll be no use to me when your knees buckle from the strain.”

The searching look I saw in his brown eyes suddenly made me wonder if everything he had done since I had returned to the house hadn't been some kind of _test_. It was a strange thought, but it rang true none the less. Staying away from me even when he had to know I had come back, waking me up so early, the gruff way about him, the way he had pushed me to work so hard without food or rest... Had he done it all to see how I would react? If I would protest any of it? If me leaving for a month had changed anything? 

Well, if it had indeed been a test, he had his answer now at least, and so did I; nothing at all had changed. I was still prepared to do anything I could to help him, because I trusted that he would use me for good. And I also knew that spending a month dreaming about him had made the real man in front of me no less appealing. 

The last thought made me blink. When had I even started to find Mr. Stark appealing? I couldn't say, but I was sure now that I did. Even though it was strange. He was not a man who could be considered traditionally handsome; every feature was dark and marked. What was heavy was too heavy, like his thick brows which made his eyes even darker, his broad chest, and the strong forearms showing where he had rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. What was sharp was too sharp, like his nose and his jaw, the last made even sharper by the lines of his well-groomed beard.

While he wasn't truly beautiful, every feature and his build as a whole spoke of strength and intensity, and this was what I found appealing. Others might have found his dark features and heavy shoulders intimidating, but I knew there was more to him than that. The dark intensity hid bright passion, and the heavy-looking hands could be soft and gentle when he was working on something delicate and breakable.

During some of my sleepless nights, I had wondered if I remembered him different than he really was, simply because he was far away. I had not, and this close to him the memories of our farewell all came flooding back. I knew I was blushing, helpless to stop it, and I turned my face from his scrutiny.

”Yes, sir”, I murmured, rather thickly. "Thank you." As I spoke, I started to turn completely away from him to walk out of the room, too tired for protests and too embarrassed to face him to make them. But then his hand came up to catch my elbow and stop me.

"It bothers you to rest?" There was a tension around his mouth when I glanced back, and I suspected he was suppressing a smile.

"Not at all."

"Then what is on your mind?"

"Nothing, sir. You were right, I need food and rest, and -"

"Food and rest is what has your face burning?" Mr. Stark tilted his head, and now the smile was nearly visible on his lips.

I stared up at him, feeling like some small and shivering prey facing a predator that might at any time devour it. There was no answer I could bear to give him, and I couldn't turn tail and flee. All I could do was beg, and hope for mercy. "Please, sir?" My voice was barely a whisper. "May I leave?"

He did hesitate, but only for a brief moment. Then he nodded and started for the door. He reached the door at the top of the stairs well before me, since my weak knees would barely carry me up there. When I reached it as well he was waiting for me, holding the door open as if I had been the master of the house.  
I couldn't manage to say anything, even to thank him for this honor. All I could do was keep myself from running as I headed for the kitchen.

As soon as I was out of his sight I turned down another hallway, however. By hidden away passages used by the servants of old, passages which I had discovered during my first, restless weeks in the house, I found my way to the library. There I knew I would be alone, but I still hurried over to one of the high windows and curled up on the windowsill, half hidden behind the heavy, velvet curtain. An old, familiar sort of hiding place where I stayed until my breathing was once more under my control, and I could think at least slightly more clearly than before.

I was a fool. That much I knew.

Mr. Stark was laughing at me. I had seen it in the teasing curl of a smile pulling at his lips. The lips I had spent the last weeks hoping would kiss me again. And now they mocked me. It felt unfair, but I knew I only had myself and my foolish heart to blame.

What had I been thinking? But there really was no need to ask, I already knew the answer – I had not been thinking at all.

Now, though, I forced myself to make my heart be still, and use my head. No more of this stupidity! I was here to work, hired to do so in fact, paid for it, and work was what I should do. For that, I needed to be able to be by Mr. Stark's side without blushing and cringing. That would very quickly become unbearable, if it wasn't already. So I first of all set myself the chore of uprooting this hope I had let spread like a weed in my heart. I would banish any warm feeling I had for my employer, and he would once more be simply that, and nothing more. What so ever. 

Making this decision gave me a sense of relief in itself. I had made a mistake, and a humiliating one at that, but I could and would make it all right again, now that I had come to my senses.

Satisfied with this plan of mine, I felt calm at last. I left the library to finally go to find myself the food and rest I sorely needed, and I didn't see Mr. Stark again that day, which I was grateful for. It gave me more time to do what I had to do.

To clear my head, I spent part of the afternoon walking in the garden, breathing in the warmer air, carrying the smells of the coming spring. Here and there small, purple flowers had already sprouted in the brown grass, opening yellow eyes to the sun. It filled me with a new kind of hope. No matter how gray the world seemed, life began anew. And so would mine.

The next morning when Jarvis found me leaning over my breakfast by the kitchen table, and told me Mr. Stark wished to see me in his study as soon as possible, I felt calmer about going to see him than I would have expected to be the day before. Even going to see him in the room where he had left me so flustered the last time wasn't enough to shake my resolve now. I could start over, and make everything right.

Mr. Stark was sitting behind his littered desk, his thoughtfully lined forehead supported against the heel of his left hand as he was leaning over some reading. His right hand was tapping a restless rhythm on the edge of the table. When I stepped inside after knocking and being told to enter, he didn't even look up. He raised the tapping hand, holding a finger up to me, asking me to wait for a moment. 

As I did so, I studied the rest of the room more carefully than I had had the opportunity to do last time. I remembered the wood panels and the high windows, now I noticed the red-and-gold drapes which made the room even warmer, the bookshelves and the fireplace on the wall behind the desk. There were no old tapestries on the walls here, instead there were framed drawings of steam engines, similar to the one in the workroom, and machines I could not even guess at the purpose of, configurations of cogs and gears too detailed for me to even make out.

By the time I had taken it all in Mr. Stark was obviously done with his reading, pushing it away on the wooden surface in front of him, and then leaning back to look at me across the piles of papers and books, inkwells, pens, feather quills, metal parts from his workroom, a tool staining the papers it was resting on with grease, and a multitude of other items I couldn't make out in the mess. He placed his elbows on the armrests and tapped his fingertips together as he eyed me.

”Sit down”, he said at last, when it felt like he had been studying me for a long time.

I silently stepped up to the chair by my side of the desk and did as I was told, not sure at all why we were in this place and not in the windowless room downstairs.

”I never asked about your stay at... your uncle's, was it not?” His head tilted against the backrest, his long eyelashes lowering, so that he was nearly watching me through them.

”Yes, it was. And no, you didn't, sir.” I sat straight, without my back touching the chair, hands clasped in my lap. Most likely it made me seem tense, but I could sit no other way under his gaze. It all but demanded my focus and attention.

For a moment, we were both silent. Perhaps both of us waiting for the other to speak up.

”So.” Mr. Stark was the one to finally break the silence. ”By your unwillingness to tell me about it, I guess it was not a pleasant stay?”

”Not unwilling, sir”, I assured him. ”I simply do not wish to bore you by telling you things you might not be interested in hearing. Ask me, and I will tell you.”

”You told me he might be dying when you left. Your uncle.”

There really was no question in his words, but I understood what he wanted to know anyway. I nodded. ”He passed. Not even a week after my arrival.”

”Still, you stayed away so long.” One of his dark brows arched. ”Did he perhaps leave you some great inheritance to see to before you came back?”

”None at all, in fact, sir.” 

My detached tone seemed to surprise him, since the brow moved even higher on his forehead. ”The coins I sent with you were useful then, I take it.”

”Yes, sir. Thank you.” I had thanked him when I had received them as well, but once more couldn't hurt.

Again, silence filled the room. Mr. Stark let his hands drop into his lap, elbows still on the armrests, and his shoulders seemed to fall slightly. As if he was giving up, surrendering some inner struggle.

”I should thank you as well.”

”Sir?” I felt the frown on my face, but tried hard to keep my confusion under control.

”For coming back.” Again, saying it as if I had anywhere else in this world to go. Just as when he had asked me if I was coming back. His face looked so unusually open, however, that I was unable to brush it off as some jest.

”There is no need to thank me for that, sir”, I said slowly, weighing my words carefully. ”I am still in your service, after all.”

”So you are.” Mr. Stark blinked at me. ”Good thing, too. Or I would never get this done.” Then he raised a hand again, this time to wave me over to join him on his side of the table. ”Here, I should show you.”

Hesitant, but too curious to stay away, I rose from my chair and rounded the desk to stand by his elbow. I looked at the paper his hands were gently spreading out in front of us, and saw a perfectly detailed rendering of the Arc. Although, it was different in some ways. The way the engine was connected to it was more similar to what we had been striving to achieve the day before. The plan had not been clear to me then, but now I understood at least some of what he had been trying to accomplish. 

”Oh...” I breathed it out. Fascinated, I leaned forward to look more closely, even reaching out a hand to trace a line with a careful fingertip. ”Yes, I can see it now. This new angle here? It will take less power to run the Arc this way, and require less heat from the engine.” And of course, less heat in the room would mean making it easier for me to keep it cool, and the Arc stable. This could be what we had needed to make it all work, at last. ”This is...” I turned my head to smile at Mr. Stark, but the smile stiffened in surprise when I found him much closer to me than I had anticipated, his wide, dark eyes _drinking in_ my face. ”...Perfect”, I finished, barely finding the syllables now.

”Yes”, he said, voice husky. ”It is.”

When the hand closest to me, his right, came up to find its way into my hair where it was hanging down like a curtain behind my face, I didn't move. When his fingers touched my scalp, settled against my head and gently urged me closer I let them move me, however.

It was a strange angle for a kiss, with me leaning over the desk, him leaning forward in the chair to reach me, so it didn't last as long as the first one. I felt no hint of his tongue either, just his lips against mine, as warm and soft as I remembered them. Somehow, it still wasn't chaste. Perhaps it was the unsteady little breath he let out through his nose, fanning over my skin, or the way his fingers were still warm under my hair? It might have been both.

In any case, by the time he let me go and we both straightened to stare at each other, all my intentions of uprooting hopes and banishing feelings were overturned. The look in his eyes told me he had reached a similar conclusion of his own, so when he slowly raised his hand again I did not think it was to show me out of the room. His hand seemed to reach for me, in fact, but it faltered and fell back before it was half way.

I wanted to say that he didn't need to draw back, that it would have been welcome, but I did not know how. Instead I just watched as he got to his feet to tower over me, never moving back or away, so that he ended up standing very, very close to me. His hands were still by his sides, but we were nearly touching already as it was, my head tilted back, his forward, and all he had to do was lean in further and tilt his head slightly to the side, for our mouths to slot together again. More comfortably this time, finding their place with more ease. Even so, he kept his tongue to himself, and I was too much of a coward to offer my own. I was already trembling against him anyway. He must have felt it, and maybe that was why he made one last press closer on my lips, and then slowly pulled back to look down at me again.

”I never thought you would come back”, he murmured, his mouth so close still that I could feel the words on my skin.

That was when I really understood. He had been sure he would have scared me off with that first kiss. That I would take the chance, while I was away from this house, to find somewhere else to go. That I would turn and run.

”Sir”, I answered, just as softly, ”I told you I would.”

”Yes, you did.” Mr. Stark straightened up even more as he continued. ”And once, you told me that lies run just as smoothly over your tongue as the truth.”

”I did.” With some force, I made myself smile. ”But perhaps that was the lie?”

He blinked at me, and then he laughed. The warm, genuine sound of it took the tension out of the air between us, and when his hand came up to reach for me now it didn't hesitate. Instead it settled on my shoulder, so high it was by the angle up to my neck, but still only touching the layers of clothing I was wearing.

”Given time, I believe I will figure that out.” He was still chuckling when he shifted me around and started leading me out of the room, by his side. ”Now, we get back to work.”

We did. This time, when he didn't drive me so punishingly hard to test me, and when I knew the purpose of our work, I could put my heart in it, in a way I had never truly done before. 

I had never been happier.

* * *

We worked hard. There were many changes that had to be done, and it turned out that some of them required completely new parts. Some of them Mr. Stark could make himself, but to his great annoyance he realized that he lacked the supplies needed for others. He grumbled and swore, but he sent an order for what he needed and then set to work doing what he could while he waited.

I helped him with what I could, as well. Sometimes it was heavy lifting, where I often was more a hindrance than help, sometimes running errands, bringing him anything he had use for, and sometimes simply listening to him thinking aloud about the construction. He did not truly seem to speak to me when he did, but then he could still turn to me at any time, looking at me as if he expected an answer. The only thing I could do then was nod along, tell him 'yes, sir', or 'no, sir', whichever felt more fitting at the time. It seemed enough to please him however, which was lucky since I more often than not had no real answer to give him. I simply could not follow his words and thoughts, lacking the knowledge that came so easily to him. I could only listen.

Not that I minded. His voice was pleasing to my ears.

When the construction was as far along as was possible Mr. Stark insisted that we do some experiments with lower levels of power coming from the engine, to simulate the difference it would make in the end. These simple trials showed that I could control the temperature in the room with much greater ease now, and I could see the hope really start to take root in Mr. Stark then. He believed that this was the key to succeeding.

Then the day came when there was simply nothing more to be done until the supplies arrived. Mr. Stark's impatience was obvious. He was not made for waiting, and he grew restless. The beautiful spring, which had arrived in earnest while we had been hiding in the darkness under the house, did nothing to improve upon this.

More to escape his own boredom than as a favor to me, I suspect, he used the warm, ever greener days to fulfil his promise to teach me to handle a horse, and how to ride. He let me borrow a small, buckskin mare with a gentle disposition, well suited for a new learner. She had an endless patience with my fumbling hands and the way I struggled to first get her saddle on her back, and then myself up to sit in it. In the end Mr. Stark had to get his large hand under my knee and lift me up into place, which made me blush and him give another of those barely there smiles. I could feel the warmth of his hand on my leg for hours after.

I would most likely never be a truly skilled rider, but on this mare I did not need to be. She had been well trained enough for the both of us, and she often knew what I wanted from her even before I could signal it with my hands on her reins, or my feet in the stirrups. But my teacher knew when I had truly learned something, and when my mount had helped me out.

”No, Loki! I told you to turn right this time!” Mr. Stark's voice was firm, but not angry. He was standing in the middle of the courtyard when I leaned back in the saddle to make the mare come to a halt in front of him. The riding crop in his hand was pointing in the direction I had failed to take. ”This old lady knows a lot of tricks. You cannot let her lead the way all the time, however. Now, try it again!”

”Yes, sir”, I muttered, shortening the reins and turning the mare's head around to start the exercise over, even though I was tired and thoroughly sore in muscles I had never known I had.

Mr. Stark laughed at me. ”Once more, then we are done for the day.”

He had to help me out of the saddle as well. I still all but fell to the ground when my legs nearly folded under me, so unused to this new form of work, and he laughed again.

For some reason, I couldn't find it in me to get hurt or angry at his laughter. It was such a rare sound to hear from him, and I treasured the warmth of it every time, even when it happened to be at my expense. But it still did not feel like it was, somehow. Perhaps it was the soft, gentle sparkle in his eyes telling me there was nothing mean behind the laughter, that he didn't intend it to be humiliating.

After a few days practice in the courtyard Mr. Stark declared that I at least could manage well enough to follow him on a ride into the fields around the house. Still insecure and nervous I tried to protest it, but it was no use once his mind was made up so in the end he had his way, as he always did.

On his red stallion – who did his best to impress my mare, and only got her teeth in his shoulder for his troubles – Mr. Stark led us out of the garden, out into the open landscape of meadows and rolling hills leading away from the forest behind the house. At first I was tense about being out here, where anything could spook the horses, making them run off with us, but the further we got from Ironthorn Hall without anything happening, the more I relaxed. After a while, I even starting enjoying myself. The gentle rocking of the horse's gait became easier to follow, I stopped flinching every time she shook her head to chase off slow, lazy spring flies, and could see more of the nature around us. Everything was coming back to life after the winter months, leaves returning on the trees, flowers opening, birds singing as if their tiny hearts were ready to burst with joy.

Smiling at the beauty of it, I glanced over at Mr. Stark, finding his eyes already on me. When our eyes met so unexpectedly he twitched and turned away, but he didn't look away for long before his eyes found me again. I caught him doing it out of the corner of my eye, and it made my heart flutter, while a part of me wondered why he kept looking at me when he had the beauty of the landscape around us to see.

It was past midday when Mr. Stark said that we should turn back for home. Hungry and very sore by now, I quickly agreed. He grinned at my eager words, and pointed across the fields to our left. ”If we pass straight over here, we can get home sooner”, he said. ”Through those trees and over a hill, then we are nearly at Ironthorn. Trust me.”

And I did. So when he led me over the meadow and in among the trees and bushes, I never hesitated. In the shadows under the still nearly bare branches I soon discovered that the reason that the trees grew here, was a narrow yet somewhat deep stream of water. The red stallion, taking the lead, stepped through the water which reached his knees at the deepest point. My mare, on the other hand, was smaller than the stallion, and in the very last moment she decided that she didn't dare wade across the stream. With her last steps she started running, which made me lose my balance and the stirrups, and then she jumped, making me tumble helplessly from the saddle, my startled shout ending in a not at all dignified splash of very, very cold water.

Luckily the water was deep enough that I didn't seriously hurt myself hitting the rocks on the bottom of the stream. A knee and an elbow ached, but I managed to sit up in time to see Mr. Stark turning his horse around, staring at me where I was sitting with the streaming water around me nearly reaching my chest. At first, there was only stunned surprise on his dark face. Then it split into a wide grin as he reined in his stallion and dismounted by the water. He did not laugh this time, however, he simply stepped out into the stream and reached down for me. Blinking the water out of my eyes, feeling more of it run down my forehead and cheeks, I looked up into his wide smile.

”Come now, Loki”, he urged me. ”Take my arm, and I will get you out of there. Or do you like it so much you wish to stay?”

With some willpower, I managed to shake my head. I lifted a hand out of the water and grabbed his elbow, so that he could grab mine. He pulled, got me half way to my feet, and then had to add his other hand around my back when the weight of my sopping wet clothes threatened to pull me back down again. For a brief moment we remained like that, water nearly to our knees, our arms locked together, his strong hand on my back, holding me closer to him, his smile still so wide, warm and near. Then he turned and pulled me up on the grassy and muddy bank, where he let me go. I shook drops from my hands, combed them through my hair and got as much of the water out of it as I could. Looking down at myself, I sighed at the wet, heavy clothes clinging to my skin.

Mr. Stark was pulling one boot off at a time, pouring the water out before putting them back on, and I did the same. For me, wet all over, it made less difference than I might have hoped, but it was at least a slight improvement. Feeling miserable, I noticed him studying me with a frown on his face. Before I could ask him what was the matter, he caught one of my hands, running his fingers over it.

”Why aren't you shivering?” He looked up at me, a hand coming up to cup my cheek, but I guessed it was there to feel the state of my skin. ”That water was freezing cold. You are wet through and through. Your skin is cold to the touch, but you do not seem bothered. By any of it. Why is that?”

And I knew what he was thinking. He was so used to seeing me trembling and shivering with the cold coming from the frozen flame in my heart, on the occasions when I had pushed myself too far, but this cold from the outside was nothing for me. I felt the discomfort of the wet clothes, and the cold was unpleasant, yes, but it didn't hurt me.

”The cold knows its own”, I said. Frigga had once told me those words, saying that the cold would never harm me, and she had been right.

”I see.” The frown left his face then, before a shudder ran through his own body. ”Well, I'm bothered! Let us get you back on that horse now. I will feel a lot better when we are both in dry clothes, at least.”

Luckily my mare was already back by the stream, looking nearly guilty that she had made me fall. I scratched her yellow neck, let her know there had been no harm done, and went to lift my leg in an attempt to get my foot in the stirrup. Before I had the chance I felt Mr. Stark move in to stand close by my elbow, and glanced at him over my shoulder.

”In those clothes you will need help”, he said simply.

Nodding my agreement, already feeling how heavy the water in the cloth made me, I bent my left knee. He closed his hand around it and lifted me back up in the saddle. I barely needed to pull myself up by my arms. Then one of his hands caught my stirrup, the other my heel, and he slid the front of my foot into place before looking up at me.

I felt my breath catch in my throat at the intensity of his deep, brown eyes. There was something strangely intimate in the gesture, and it was most definitely not something the master of a house should do for his employee. Swallowing, I lowered my eyes to where my hands were gathering up the reins again.

”Thank you, sir.” It was a mumble.

”You are welcome, Loki.” His hands held on to my boot and stirrup for a moment longer, then he slowly let go and walked over to his own horse.

We spent the quick and uneventful ride back in silence, and when we had returned to Ironthorn Hall he insisted that I join him in the drawing room for a hot meal – after changing into dry clothes, of course. As he warmed his previously wet feet, stretched out close to the fire, he glanced over at me where I was sitting on the stool by his chair.

”You will never agree to go hunting with me now, will you?” A barely there hint of a smile was playing on his full lips.

”Never, sir”, I confirmed, keeping my face as serious as I could.

I was sitting close enough that he just had to reach out his arm, lean slightly forward, and he could cup my face in his hand. His fingertips combed into the hair behind my ear, his thumb brushed the hollow of my cheek and nearly over the corner of my mouth.

”I really do need to take better care of you.” The words were so soft they were nearly a whisper.

The cold of the water had not made me shiver, but the warmth in those words did.

* * *

Some of the supplies Mr. Stark had ordered arrived a couple of days after our ride, but this shipment contained none of the things that would have let him keep working. It ignited his restless impatience again.

Then some heavy spring rains came rolling in, and forced us to stay indoors for a few days, on top of it all.

Perhaps that was why things happened the way they did? But no, I honestly believe it would have happened anyway. The restlessness might have made things escalate more quickly than they would have otherwise, but I cannot blame the lack of supplies or the rains for what I now know was inevitable.

It began rather innocently, with Mr. Stark finding me in the library one gray, miserable afternoon. The rain was pattering hard enough against the window where I was sitting to distract me in my reading, and I let the book drop into my lap when I heard someone enter the room and approach me. A very old, deeply rooted instinct made me cover the book with my hands, hiding it, even though I was quite certain he did not mind. 

And sure enough, he didn't so much as glance at the book as he came up to sit down in the window face to face with me, his back leaning against the opposite wall. At first he didn't glance at me either. His eyes were focused on something in the far off distance outside the window, as if he had never noticed me sitting there and just came to sit in the same place by chance.

Finally, he turned to look at me with a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ”You favor this place.” It wasn't even a question.

I still nodded. ”I do. I enjoy reading.”

”So I have noticed. And that it means I have to seek you out here if I wish to see you.” The smile was still small, but settling into place in his lips.

His words made me wonder if I had made myself too hard to find when there was something he required my help for. I sat up straighter, my back leaving the wall behind me. ”I'm sorry, sir. It was never my intent to make myself hard do find. Is there something I can do for you?”

”There is, as a matter of fact.” He held out his hand to me. ”Come here and give me that thing, first of all.”

His gesture, his words, even his commanding tone brought back my memories of the last time Thor had found me in the library on Ravenshead. I could almost feel the scar on my cheek sting, and I swallowed hard. Had I been mistaken? Would he punish me for touching his books after all? But no matter how uneasy I suddenly was there was nowhere to run or hide, so I slowly got to my feet. The windowsill was wide enough that I couldn't reach to hand him the book and I had to take a couple of steps to stand by his side where he was sitting, leaning back as I had been, the leg closest to the window up on the sill, knee slightly bent, the other foot still on the floor by mine. Hesitantly, I handed him the small, leather-bound novel I had been reading.

Mr. Stark barely spared a glance for the book this time either. He simply moved it to his other hand, and slipped it down between himself and the window. 

My heart fell. Would I no longer be allowed my reading?

But he wasn't finished just yet. When he had disposed of the book, he turned back to look at me, and his hand came out to me once more, this time to catch mine. With this hold on me, his skin warm against mine, he first pulled me closer and then down. In my distracted state it took me longer than it should have before I understood what it was he really wanted from me. 

Not the book – my mouth.

He had to drag me nearly all the way down, until my lips were by his, before I realized that I would not be receiving a punishment after all. The relief was strong enough to make me weak in the knees, and I nearly fell on his mouth when I knew what he wished for.

I felt more than heard the little chuckle in his throat when he noticed my lack of balance, and then his hand let go of mine so his arms could come up to slip around my waist. Since my footing was already unsteady, it didn't take much for him to turn me in this new hold on me, and pull me off my feet completely. I suddenly found myself sitting across his lap with my back to the window and my legs dangling from his thigh, my feet nowhere near the floor now.

His arms were still around me, holding me close, but soon one hand came to cradle the back of my head. If it was to support my nearly limp neck or to hold me closer I couldn't say, and when his lips parted against mine, I no longer cared which. My own hands, resting on his heavy shoulders, held on tighter as I felt his tongue touch me. It was just as hot as I remembered it when it was now running along my bottom lip, soft and wet and not even begging to be let in this time, content with simply exploring me. This time, he seemed to be in no hurry what so ever.

This time, I was the urgent one. My fingers gripping his shoulders even harder, I pressed into his chest. I moved my head into the angle that already felt so familiar and right, let my own mouth open just so, inviting him in, and he accepted readily enough. I heard a little moan as our tongues touched, but I had no idea which one of us had let it out. It might have been a sound coming from us both at the same time.

Mr. Stark's arms held me if possible even tighter then, the one around my back pulling me closer on his lap until I was pressed against him. The very unmistakable hardness of him was against the outside of my thigh, and the sensation made me lightheaded with shock and a wanting I didn't even fully understand. I had to move my lips from his, turning my head, to breathe in air that did not come from his lungs or mine. Shivering, I felt his lips feather light kisses along my jaw instead, and had to open my eyes when everything in the darkness behind my lids was spinning.

The sight of the wide open, well lit room around us brought me back to reality with a jolt. At once I moved my hands down to the front of his shoulders instead, pushing against them to sit up straight, leaning away from him. My movement made him frown up at me, clearly displeased.

”Not here”, I mumbled, my lips numb. ”Anyone could see.”

For a moment I thought he would brush my fears aside, then he half pushed, half lifted me out of his lap and onto the floor. He stood up in front of me, holding the book against my chest. When I took it from him, his thumb brushed over my fingers.

”Come to my chambers. Tonight.” His eyes were much darker than usual when they met mine. ”No-one there to see but us.”

With that he slipped his hand from mine, turned and left the room.

On trembling legs I took a half step back and sat down in the window again, the book resting in my lap. Every part of me that had been in contact with Mr. Stark's body was tingling, my heart felt too large for my ribcage, my head empty. I might have read more, but if I did, I do not remember a single word of it.

What I do remember, vividly, is leaving my own room when the early dusk of the still gray day had turned to night, and walking down the hallway to the door I knew led to Mr. Stark's rooms. I remember thinking that I should hesitate, but the legs carrying me there were steady, the hand knocking softly on the door didn't tremble. The sound of a voice asking me to enter did not make me turn and run, instead I just did as told and opened the door to step inside and pull it shut behind me.

The first room I stepped into was furnished with two large armchairs in front of a lit fireplace, the flames filling the room with warmth and light. Soft rugs, old tapestries in rich colors, it all made the room feel comfortable and welcoming. To my left, double doors opened to the bedroom. Mr. Stark was standing in the doorway, but behind him I caught a glimpse of a large bed with heavy wooden posts and red-and-gold draperies, a matching bedspread over the covers. It looked like a bed fit for a king.

At first his face was so blank that I thought he had changed his mind. Or perhaps I had misunderstood his request somehow? My heart stuttered, but then one side of his mouth curled up in a smile, and he came towards me with slow, measured steps, as if I was a barely tame animal he might frighten away if he wasn't careful. And I supposed, slightly amused at my own thought, that this was actually not that far from the truth of it.

”So.” Mr. Stark stopped in front of me, less than an arm's length away. ”Here you are.”

”Sir, I -”

”No.” He shook his head, and a hand came up to stop me. ”I have no title in here.”

For a moment I hesitated, then I nodded slowly. I could understand what he wanted; to be nothing but human, at least for a while. And I wanted the same. The nod made him smile again, and the hand dropped, allowing me to speaking again.

”Yes. Here I am.” 

Somehow saying the words, stating the obvious fact, made it more real than the action of leaving my room to come here. My stomach tightened in a strange way, making it hard to take deep breaths, and I could feel my fingers start to tremble. Up until now I had never really questioned my actions, perhaps because it was by now so much of a habit to simply follow Stark's orders. In the workroom his word was law, simply because any mistake might lead to injury or death, which I knew very well. His words to invite me here had definitely been phrased as an order. I suspected that was the only way he had of asking for anything; by not asking, but demanding. Still, I knew that he was not truly as hard and harsh as his words made him seem, it was mostly the way he had about him.

No matter what he had intended – an invitation or an order – I was not there now because he had demanded it. I was there because I wanted to be.

”Come.” He turned to walk to the armchairs by the fire, and made a gesture to them. ”Sit down.” 

I smiled to myself as these invitations also came out as orders, but then I followed him. When I sat down, he placed two glasses of wine on the table between us. It had the richest, golden color I had ever seen and tasted just as richly sweet when I sipped the glass. My chest felt warmer, and I found I could breathe again.

Stark had downed most of his glass at once I noticed as I glanced over at him. Now he was quietly watching me, and suddenly I couldn't swallow anymore of the wine.

”Now”, he said when he saw me watching him in return, ”where did we leave off?”

”I think I can remember.” Strangely, it was a struggle to remember to leave the title out of it.

”I'm glad to hear it.” He tilted his head back, his eyes dark even in the firelight. ”Come over here and show me, would you?”

My legs, so steady when carrying me to this room, were trembling slightly now, but I still made myself stand and walk over to his chair. When I did he leaned forward, his arms once more coming up to catch my waist, and moments later I was back sitting across his lap. One of my arms was around both his shoulders this time, and when he eagerly drew me in, my lips to his, my other hand came up to run into his hair.

”Yes, now I remember as well”, he said as he let my mouth go for a moment. 

”I'm glad to hear it.”

When his lips came back to mine, we were both smiling.

I left his rooms closer to midnight, not certain if I was more lightheaded from the sweet, strong wine, or the sweet, strong kisses. My lips felt sore, and my bed so very, very empty in a way I had never experienced before. I suddenly craved the warmth of another body under my covers, the weight of it dipping the mattress, skin against mine. The thoughts soon had me so hard it was hurting me, and with something close to a sob I found myself pushing into the dry friction of the sheets. It gave some hint of relief, but it was still so far from the soft skin I had imagined that the disappointment stopped me short.

I wanted more. What, I had no words for, but I knew it wasn't this.

* * *

As the wait for Mr. Stark's supplies continued, our habits fell into a strange new pattern.

By day, he was often locked away in his study again, planning and preparing everything he would do when he could finally get back to the real work. I barely saw him during the light hours, and I filled them as best I could on my own, seeking the company of the others in the household, reading, walking in the gardens with You, who seemed as restless as his master, or even sometimes going to the stables to visit the buckskin mare, bringing her weeds or grass from the garden.

By night, I was every now and then summoned to his rooms again. Oftentimes those nights were no different than the ones we had spent in the drawing room before; he served us wine, and we talked, of anything and nothing, in a way I had never done with anyone before. It was talking just for the sake of exchanging thoughts, hearing the other's mind wander, never to reach a final goal or conclusion.

And during the nights in his chambers, I never once called him 'sir'. He was simply a man, and so was I. Here, hidden from the world, we were equals.

On other nights, words were not enough for what needed to be said, and our lips had to speak their silent language. 

I found myself wishing that these nightly visits could go on forever, and I hoped I was not the only one. When I found that I was not, it was still in a way that made me think it would all be taken from me.

It was late, and I should have returned to my own room a long time ago, when Stark insisted on pouring me another glass of wine before I left. By then I had already had two, and my head was slightly foggy, but I could never win an argument against his made up mind. He stood by the table to refill our glasses and then put the bottle down beside them. Instead of sitting back down in his chair he then turned to look down at me where I was sitting. His face was cast in nearly complete darkness with the fire behind him, but I could still feel his eyes on me. Then, to my astonishment, he moved to fall on his knees on the floor by my feet, nearly between my legs, his hands coming to rest on my elbows.

”Forget the wine.” He sighed, his thumbs moving over the fabric of my shirt. ”It is nothing more than my excuse to keep you here a while longer.”

Part of me had already known this, but hearing him say the words was still something very different.

”I shouldn't keep you.” Somehow, he made the words have a double meaning, making my heart beat harder. ”And still, I feel the need to.” Another sigh escaped him. ”So I do anyway.”

Perhaps it was the wine loosening my tongue, but I couldn't keep from speaking up them. ”Why shouldn't you keep me?” Had I made him think I wished to leave? Because I had protested the wine?

”Good question”, he murmured. ”Why shouldn't I? When a man sees a ray of sunshine, shouldn't he turn his face to it? If he finds water to quench his thirst, shouldn't he drink it? If only useless convention is in his way, should it stop him?”

He lost me completely before he was even half way through his questions and I had no answer for him when he turned quiet again. My mind was slow and sluggish, my heart distracted by his warm hands and the dark face turned up to watch mine. Before I had gathered myself, and waiting for me to do so might have been futile in any case, he put his hands on the armrests and stood up, for a moment leaning in over me where I was sitting. I expected him to kiss me then, and I wished that he would, but he just stood up straight and turned from me completely to go sit down in his own chair. He was leaning away from me, half turned away too, his elbow on the armrest and his chin resting on a closed fist.

”Go. You must be tired.” His words were suddenly short, leaving no room for protest what so ever.

The shift in his mood got through the fog in my mind, and I felt cold. With a silent nod I stood and walked out, wondering what had happened. Although I truly was tired, I found no sleep when I returned to my room. To my ears his words had come across as a reluctance to continue our nightly visits, and I tossed, turned and worried.

A few days passed when he didn't call for me, and I feared I had done something wrong, something to end what I had barely known had started before it seemed to be taken from me again.

In the end I could no longer bear the helpless waiting, and I went to him of my own volition. Something I had never done before, and wasn't sure it would be welcome even as I knocked on his door that night. When I heard no call to enter, I was certain I would be ignored. Then the door suddenly opened and Mr. Stark was standing in front of me for the first time in days. I could do nothing but stare for a moment, as if he had turned into a complete stranger in those days, and he did exactly the same. But then he stepped aside and invited me in with a silent gesture. I walked in and heard him both close and lock the door behind me. He had never locked it before, and something about the sharp sound of it made shivers run up my spine. Turning back to face him I found him standing right behind me, but for once I didn't even startle.

”How late should I keep you tonight?” Stark's voice was dark and husky, his face intent.

I knew the question was important. Significant. I had no idea why, what it really meant, but that made no difference to my answer. ”As late as you want to”, I told him, surprised at how smooth my voice remained.

This time when he caught my hand and led me away from the door he didn't direct me to the armchairs, instead he led me through the double doors to his bed. His hand on my shoulder pushing me down to sit on the edge of it made the meaning of his question more clear to me, suddenly and overwhelmingly so. Still, I knew my answer remained the same. So when I slowly lifted my eyes to travel up to his face where he was standing over me I had no need for questions, or more invitations phrased as orders. I simply kicked my shoes off, letting them fall to the floor by his feet, and moved back from the edge of the bed to sit at the center of it, leaning back on my hands, one leg folded up almost to my chest and the other stretched out in front of me, the foot still hanging off the edge.

Heartbeats passed in stillness and silence, and I wondered if I had somehow made another foolish mistake. Then he sat on the bed as well, reached for me, and before I knew how he had done it he had me flat on my back, stretched out along the bed instead of across it, and he was half beside me, half leaning over me.

When his lips brushed over mine I felt myself arch off the bedspread, pressing closer to his chest. It was not something I had meant to do, but just my body acting on its own behalf, searching more of what it wanted. And it found it, even though there was still so much between us; our shirts and waistcoats, pants, belts... It seemed like an endless amount of layers, but I could still make out his bones and muscles under it all.

This simple, instinctive action also made Stark press himself harder against me, in turn. His mouth stopped teasing mine and moved to claim it, a moan finding its way out of his throat as he did so. As if he had heard my thoughts about the layers between us, his large but very deft hands came up to undo the buttons on my waistcoat, and then starting on the ones on my shirt, his lips never once leaving mine in the process. Distracted by the game his tongue was now playing with mine, I barely noticed when he pulled the front of my shirt out of my pants, parting it, leaving my chest bare. I only noticed when his palm settled on the naked skin over my waist, hot and searching. The touch, so close and unfamiliar, made me pull my mouth from his with a gasp, as if I was suddenly drowning in it all.

I felt his soft lips as he pressed his face against the side of mine, his goatee scratching at my smooth, beardless jawline. ”I will stop if you ask me to, Loki”, he whispered, burning the words into my skin.

Unhesitatingly, I shook my head against him. No, that was the last thing I wished for. It wasn't less I wanted; it was more. To have his hands everywhere on me, preferably at once. ”I'm not asking”, was all I could get out. Fortunately, it seemed to be all he needed to hear.

He let go of me enough to get up on his knees, astride my legs, gazing down at me. Flat on my back, my hands resting on the pillows above my head, tangled into my spread out hair, I was open and unprotected under him. Or so I thought, before his hands skimmed over my chest, pushing the open shirt completely out of the way. It made me feel very naked, although I was more than half dressed. Like this, it was still more of my skin than anyone had seen since I had been young enough to need help washing and dressing. Knowing what I looked like, all white skin, narrow ribcage and a soft stretch of abdomen down to my hipbones, I feared what his reaction would be at the sight. 

There came no words from him and I didn't dare look at his face, instead keeping my eyes on the dark ceiling above us. After a moment his hands settled on my stomach, just above my hips, moved up over my waist, the faint ridges of my ribs under the thin, sensitive skin, to rest flat over my chest, fingertips brushing my clavicles. I knew he must feel both my frantic heartbeats and my labored breathing like this, and against better judgment I blinked and shifted my eyes to his. They were wide and dark and I couldn't make sense of what I saw in them, but I felt sure there was at least no disappointment to be found there.

Stark's hands moved along my arms, catching my wrists to get my hands out of my hair and then down in front of me. As I watched, he undid the buttons on my shirt sleeves, then took my hands in his and pulled me up sitting in front of him. Without further prompting I shook my garments off my shoulders, pulled them off and let them drop beside the bed. Then I turned to Stark. He was still astride my legs, which had angled up off the bed in my movements and were now nearly touching him. We were both motionless a moment. Looming over me, fully dressed when I was sitting there in only my pants, he could have been intimidating, but I felt surprisingly safe. So there was really no hesitation in my movements when my hands came up to undo the buttons on his waistcoat; it felt like the right thing to do. When I had opened them all, and went to do the same to his shirt, he lifted his own hands and undid the ones by his neck and chest, since those were uncomfortably high for me to reach. But he let me take his dark, heavy hands in my thin, pale fingers and undo the buttons on his sleeves. He then shrugged out of his own clothes, pulled the shirt free of his pants, and let it all follow mine to the floor.

Undressed, we were if possible even less alike than we had been with our clothes on. His skin was so much darker than mine, even where the cloth was always hiding it, his body so much wider and heavier. While I was all soft, I could make out the lines of firm muscle under his skin, and almost reverently I let a fingertip trace one of them along the side of his abdomen, feeling goosebumps appear under my touch. There was a scattering of hair over his sternum and around his darker nipples, and another gathering of coarser hairs disappearing inside the front of his pants, but that one I had to look away from, swallowing so hard it seemed to echo in the quiet room. Instead my eyes came up to his face again, and I found him smiling.

The smell of his bare skin, so close to me, was enough in itself to make me breathless. It held the warmth of woodsmoke, the tang of his metal, and the salty richness of his own body under it all.

His hands settled on my shoulders and he placed me on my back under him again, before his hands traced me once more, now from the shoulders down. The gentle fingers explored my chest in more detail this time, perhaps comparing my hairless skin to his, and when they rubbed over my own much paler nipples I gasped again. I had never realized how much more sensitive they were than the skin around them, not until the touch was someone else’s.

Back by my hips his fingers slipped into the gap between my pants and my concave stomach. I felt the back of them over the skin, making the muscles under it tense in a little spasm, and then the tips of his fingers brushed against the only real growth of hair on my front, even further down. The heated groan the touch forced out of my throat shocked me, to the core. Feeling the inevitable blush rise on my cheeks I crossed my arms over my face, hiding.

”Don't”, I heard him murmur, and felt him gently pull my arms away again until I could blink up at his now serious face. ”Let me see you.” He came down to kiss me, softly, calming me. ”Let me hear you want me.” He kissed me deeper, shattering the calm he had just created. ”As I want you.” He leaned back to get his hands on my waist again, running down to my narrow hips, less gentle this time. ”All of you.”

”Yes”, I whispered, and it was the only answer I could give to all of it, feeling his fingers start to work the front of my pants open. ”Yes...”

When he moved down to undress the rest of me I closed my eyes, but I still lifted my hips off the bed to help him. It felt like he was away from me for a long time, and I felt myself start to tense up, wondering where he had gone. Just when I opened my eyes to find out, he was already coming back to me, and I understood what had kept him; he was now just as naked as I was. The sight had me lose my breath, and made me forget all about myself while he ran his hands over my legs, stroking them, lifting them, parting them, to kneel between them. I barely noticed, drinking in the dark, powerful lines of his hips and thighs. Then he leaned over me again, robbing me of the sight, but I was sure I would see it the rest of my life anyway.

His mouth replaced his hands on my skin this time. I thought I had been prepared for what that could feel like, but I had not. Skin against mine had been new and overwhelming enough, and even the long daydreams about Stark's mouth on mine had nothing on the reality of this. Soft lips, the slight tickle of his goatee, warm breath, the almost searing, wet heat of his tongue... I shivered under it, tensed and relaxed in waves of small, trembling movements, and my skin felt strangely too small , stretched over my bones.

He traced every line of me, his hands running over and over my arms all the while, and soon I was warmer than I had ever been in my life. In my heart even the frostfire was receding, burning low, and I was becoming all heat, inside and out. And strangely enough it did not worry me. The frost in my chest had been the strength I had always been able to rely on, but I had no need for it now.

Stark's hands left my arms then, came down to catch my hips and hold them in place as his mouth moved down as well. Light kisses traced a hipbone, and then his tongue ran gently up the length of me. And I knew at once what it was I had wanted more of when I had pushed my hips into the mattress of my bed; it was this, more of _this_! The feeling of his lips closing around me made my hands, once more resting above my head, grasp convulsively at the bedspread. I was grabbing my own hair as well and pulling it painfully in the process, but I couldn't make my hands release it again. I opened by mouth, to gasp for air, but my body was too tense to obey me.

If the groan his fingertips got out of me make had shocked me, it was nothing compared to how I felt about the barely human noises coming from me now. Whining, whimpering, I was so overwhelmed by the sensation of Stark taking me in, tasting me, that I never even noticed when it stopped. I only became vaguely aware of the searing heat turning to cold as the air of the room chilled the wet skin. Then I felt Stark moving, leaning over me, to the side, dipping the bed under us when all of his weight was on a hand by my side, and then sat back up.

I heard the scrape of the lid of a jar, could smell some sort of oil and the fragrance of soothing herbs, soft but rich. The sounds and the smells were so different from anything I would have expected that I blinked my eyes open, to see what he was doing.

”An ointment for burns”, he explained when he turned enough to see my frown. ”Since you arrived, I have had no use for it. Until now, that is.”

What use he had found for it now, I couldn't understand. But when his left arm slid in under the lower part of my ribs, lifting me, arching me off the bed again, when his hot mouth found my neck and chest once more, I quickly stopped trying to understand. Then, when the now slick and slippery fingers on his right hand slowly, gently, moved down between my legs, spread over his, I began to slowly see his intentions anyway. I had never imagined something like it being done, never even dreamed that it could be done, and yet it felt like the only possible course of action when his finger found its way inside me. Gasping, suddenly nearly hanging limp over his supporting arm, I felt like my entire body had given way. Not just to his searching fingers, but to all of him.

In my innocence I had thought I was open and unprotected before. I had known _nothing_ , nothing at all, and I could see that now. But I trusted him to know, to do things right, and turned myself over to him completely. To his will, his want, his hands and his body, unreservedly.

The fingers exploring me were so soft and gentle, just like they were when tinkering with something delicate and breakable, and perhaps I was, too? As his touch got to know me, I got to know his touch, and it made me certain I had not made a mistake in placing my trust in him. The feeling of letting him in, of being opened up, one finger joined by another while his slick thumb rubbed at a sensitive spot of skin I had never known existed... It was my whole world. Surrounded by his warmth and the scent of the ointment. 

In contrast to the careful fingers inside me, the arm around my back was gripping me much harder, the fingers nearly digging into my waist. As if in an effort to keep the other movements so gentle. Somehow I was happy for the difference. I still felt like I couldn't breathe, the world seemed to be dropping away from under my limp body, and his strong, almost possessive hold on my middle helped ground me. Made the rest of it more real.

Every movement slowed to a still nothing after a while, but even I knew this was not the end of it, that there was still more coming. He was waiting for something, I thought, and I opened my eyes to see if I could understand what.

His face above me was cast in shadow, making him dark, painting strange lines over his features. It might have looked frightening, or threatening, but it did not. Nothing about this scared me. I felt I should tell him so, that he had my trust, if there was even a chance that that was what he wanted.

”I'm not afraid”, I said, meeting eyes that were now black under the thick brows.

”Perhaps you should be?” Even his voice was dark, hoarse and with a sound like it chafed his throat coming out.

”Perhaps.” Yet even as my words agreed, my fingers were finding their way into the hair at the nape of his neck, gathered into curls by the damp of his sweaty skin, and tangled themselves into it. I knew the heat on him, because I felt it too; warm, sticky, my heart pounding against my ribs, breath coming faster, as if I had been running. With this grip on him I pulled Stark down, lifting my head to meet him. I wanted his mouth on mine, but I didn't get my wish. Not straight away.

He stopped before he was all the way there, a thoughtful, almost sad look in his eyes now. ”I don't want you to ever be afraid of me.”

I smiled into the warm touch of breath that was his words. ”I never am.” A brief moment's thought passed. ”Not any more”, I added then, for honesty's sake, not sure how he would like it even as I said it.

To my surprise – or perhaps not – Stark simply smiled, and finally gave me what I had been after. Leaning in deeper over me, he kissed me until I was breathless and helpless. Then both his hands pushed themselves in under me, and suddenly he was lifting me, as if I had been nothing but a rag doll in his grip, to place me astride his legs. The hands and arms around me pressed me to his chest, and I had my own curled around the back of his neck before I had thought about putting them there, instinctively searching for support and comfort. 

I felt small there. So very small. But for once, I didn't mind that. If I was small and light, I would not be a burden.

His thighs were hot and hard and coarse between mine, which were so much softer and smoother. When he pulled me up, higher and closer, I felt _him_ , even hotter and harder. There were no words I could use to tell him what I wanted, but I know I made a moaning, mewling noise by his ear then, begging for more, and he needed no more encouragement to give it.

Slowly, gently, he loosened his grip on me, and since his will, and mine, was the same as the will of gravity, that was all he needed to do.

My head fell back when I felt him breach me, and I think I cried out then, lost. I know his mouth found my throat, covering it in soothing kisses as he murmured apologies, afraid he had hurt me, and I wished I could have found the words to tell him that he hadn't. Because what little pain there had been passed almost at once, and anyway, it hadn't been the kind of pain you fear; it was the kind you love. He still held me steady there for a few moments, not letting me slide further down, so I could catch my ragged breath. 

I still had my arms securely around the back of his neck, pressing myself to his chest, so instead of pulling me closer he moved his hands down to slide in under my thighs, right by the soft creases at the top. With this hold on me he lifted me slightly, and then let my own weight pull me down again, making me take in more of him. Still bending his head forward to kiss my throat, still murmuring reassurances with every hot breath, he reapeated this movement, over and over. Each time made my own breaths hitch and my body once more tense and relax, rushing with a pleasure I had never imagined could be real, could be contained, could be survived. But it could, and he kept moving me, my weak legs barely any help, until I again could feel myfelf pressed against his hips and thighs.

For some time we stayed motionless, me once more resting astride his lap. My eyes closed, all I knew was the heat of him, outside of me as well as inside, our laboured breathing suddenly the only sounds in the room. The air was heavy with the scent of the oil and herbs and a rich, musky smell made up of our naked bodies, our shared arousal, and the warm smell of the slick, salty sweat we had rubbed into each other's skin.

When I could lift my head upright again and open my eyes, Stark was looking right into my face, wide eyed. ”Perfect”, he whispered, breathless, his lips red and wet.

I was never sure whether he meant my face, or simply the way I felt. Perhaps it was even both? Somehow it made no difference either way because right there and then, in that glorious moment when I was full to the brim – in every conceivable sense – I believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (And another thank you to my beta [Theravenofwynter](http://theravenofwynter.tumblr.com/) who helped make this chapter a lot more steamy than it was!)


	6. Treasure

In my life I have on many occasions found it true that the first of any kind of experience is so often followed by the first of others as well, and this was no exception. 

After being this intimately close to another for the first time, when we were both spent, drained and completely, thoroughly satisfied, resting next to each other on the wide bed, I started to make a move away from Stark, thinking that he would have me gone now. But before I had a chance to roll away his hand caught my thin wrist in a firm grip. I turned my head back to find a soft smile on his lips.

“Stay”, he said, just as softly. But still an order, as always.

My hesitation lasted barely a heartbeat before I nodded and instead of leaving, I let him get us both under his soft covers. There he pulled me close to his chest, and very soon he fell asleep breathing in the scent of my hair. My face was nestled by the hollow of his throat, and even though this was the first time in my life falling asleep next to another person, I felt perfectly safe and comfortable in his arms.

Early in the morning we woke up the same way, close, breathing each other in, and it was my first time waking up beside someone else. Stark still had me in his arms, and he wished me a good morning by running a hand into my hair to tilt my head back until he could lean in and kiss me. His other hand, warm and heavy, followed my waist and lower back down to the slight curve of my backside, a fingertip searching out the place where his body had joined with mine the night before. I was still sore and tender, despite the care and patience and gentleness he had been so generous with, but the faint pain also served as a reminder of what he had done and it woke me up in another way. Under the soft caresses I was soon warm and panting into the mouth still slotted together with mine.

When he took his hand away it was to push the covers off us, before he let go of my mouth and raised himself up on his elbow so he could look down at me, his dark eyes sweeping in a nearly tangible way over my skin, already shining with sweat and colored by a blush. All the visible evidence of my arousal made me embarrased suddenly, and I turned away from him. Not to get up and leave, but to curl up and hide. He didn't stop me, but a moment later he was brushing my long hair aside to kiss the nape of my neck and the curve to my shoulder, breath warm against my skin, his hand stroking the outside of my thigh.

“Will you not look at me?” He whispered the question against my shoulderblade, and all I could do was shake my head, rigid with as much want as shyness. “Should I leave you be?”

I shook my head harder, and he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my neck before he turned half away, and then I could hear the lid on the jar of ointment scrape the glass, smell the oil and herbs, and a part of me feared the way it would surely hurt me to be opened up again, while another part longed for it with a burning passion – not the pain, but what would come with it. But when Stark touched me now, it was to move himself up flush against my still curled up body, and the hand touching me only lifted my thigh ever so slightly, letting him slide in between my legs, slicking the inside of them with fragrant oil. Then he let go of my knee, allowing my thighs to press together, and took me that way, sparing my body the pain. Feeling him moving against the sensitive skin between my legs was in its own way just as arousing as having him inside me, and the gratitude and the relief I felt made it even stronger. His mouth was back to kissing my neck and shoulder, while his hand – still coated in ointment – found its way down my curved abdomen and closed around me.

“Please, Loki”, he panted against the angle of my jaw, just below my ear, and chills traveled down my neck and chest in waves. “Let me see you.”

I could barely believe that the high, keening sound leaving my throat was mine, but if it had been intended as a protest I still ignored it myself. While my hand moved back of its own will, grasping at his rolling hip, I turned my head around, found the dark brown, golden, glowing pools of his eyes, and in the next moment felt my own eyes forced shut when I was undone by his skilled fingers.

When I knew myself and the world again, the evidence of Stark's pleasure was already cooling on my thighs. 

I was so lightheaded I could barely stand by the time he finally allowed me to get out of bed, and I suspected that the only reason I was allowed was that he was just as weak and had no more strength to keep me. So I got dressed and after one last look at his dark face against his white sheets, I left him there to sneak into my own room and get ready for the day.

Somehow I was certain that the events of the previous night and this morning would be clear as a stamp on my face, that what had happened must show in some way. I was so very clearly aware of it all, and not only in the sated, sweetly sore feeling in my body, but also the warm glow in my heart, that I thought it must be obvious to everyone who saw me. It almost surprised me when no-one treated me any different than usual. Not even Stark really treated me any different, not once he left his rooms and was once more Mr. Stark, my employer and the master of the house. Not once the last shipment of supplies finally arrived the next day and he was again all work and orders.

We all but lived in the windowless workroom after that, for days at a time. He ran me ragged, worked me tired and sweaty and sore, and only let me out to fetch simple food we could eat almost while still working, bread and cheese and cold meat. When I was allowed sleep, it was on the sofa in the old study where he had brought me after I had saved his life, and never for long. He soon came to shake me awake when he needed me for some new chore, because Mr. Stark himself didn't seem to sleep at all. He barely ate either, mostly emptied the pots of tea and bottles of wine Jarvis supplied him with, and worked like a man obsessed. I made some suggestions that he should rest, but he waved me off and continued as before.

At least his work produced results, and in the end his plans were made real in metal, cogs and gears. He had even made improvements and reinforcements to the Arc itself, and now we were both as sure as we ever would be that anything that could be done to start the Arc had indeed been done.

We stood staring at the new constructions, side by side, taking it all in.

”When do we start, sir?” I never took my eyes off the machinery as I asked the question.

”Right now, of course.”

That made me turn to stare at him instead. ”No”, I said, sharply.

My tone earned me a glare, darker than any I had seen in a long time. ”Excuse me?” He nearly growled.

”No, _sir_ ”, I amended, making my tone slightly softer, but no less firm. ”You have had me on my feet for hours. I am quite certain you yourself have not truly slept in at least a couple of days.”

”So?” The glare was still in place.

”Sir.” I struggled to keep my voice calm when I continued. “This might very well work just as perfectly as you have planned. But it also might not. I will need my strength to have control even if it does work. And if it does not? Then I would be helpless to stop what could be a disaster.” I turned fully to face him. ”You have come this far. Please, do not let impatience ruin it now.”

Mr. Stark's face softened by slow degrees, the purple shadows around his eyes very clear even against his dark skin. Then he heaved a deep sigh and turned to look at the machinery again. ”Damn you and your reasonable advice, Loki.”

Unable to hold a smile back, I lowered my head to hide it in case he would turn to look at me again. His words convinced me that he would agree, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

”Very well then.” His new tone made me look up again; it was easier, but now I could hear his own weariness shine through the words as well. ”Food and rest. Tomorrow, we do this.”

”Yes, sir.”

He was as good as his word. We ate the first proper meal in days – warm meat and steaming vegetables, all steeped in butter – sitting in the drawing room. When we were nearly finished we were disturbed by Jarvis, who came to leave a message which had just arrived for Mr. Stark. He frowned, but nodded and accepted the piece of paper. I made out his name on the back of the letter in a pretty, swirling script that I suspected belonged to a woman. He read the message, folded it and put it in a pocket, and said not a word about it to me. I never asked.

Lying down to rest in my own bed that night felt almost strange after so many short, restless sleeps on the sofa with a thin blanket pulled over me, but I was tired enough to fall asleep immediately. And the next morning we were once more side by side, ready.

The heat from the steam engine was nothing now, compared to the first time we attempted this. I contained it with more ease. The improved and perfected mechanism transferring the power from the engine into the Arc meant those parts also generated less heat in the process, and I barely felt the effort of keeping the room chilled.

I could sense Mr. Stark standing close to me, behind my right shoulder. 

”Excellent”, he murmured. ”Exactly as planned.”

Nodding, I glanced over at the Arc. The cogs and gears were already spinning, speeding up. I felt heat gathering around the construction, but since there was so much less strain on me already I knew I could keep it under control for a longer time than before. The increase in heat was also less explosive in nature this time, I could tell the difference, and this slow, steady build was much easier to contain. The speed of the machinery inside the Arc hadn't been this great since that first, disastrous attempt, and I had no idea what to expect now that it was actually passing that point. Everything inside the glass was a blur, impossible to make out in any sort of detail, but what was soon very clearly visible was the blue glow gathering inside of it. At first, I thought it was something of mine, something my magic had created, but the color was all wrong. My frostfire was sharp and cold when it manifested as tinted light. This was richer, deeper and, somehow, impossibly, warm.

”Sir?” My voice was tense. I wasn't sure if this was something that was supposed to be happening.

”I see it, Loki.” Mr. Stark sounded breathless. ”This is what I have been waiting for.”

The heat was increasing faster now, reaching a peak. It was still well within my limits, although I could feel frost forming over my fingers from the strain now, the cold inside seeping out of my skin in my effort to keep the air around the construction cool. And the glow was increasing as well, deepening, spreading, filling the glass orb, strong enough to reflect off the walls around us now.

”Almost there now”, he said. ”Almost!”

The last word was barely finished when it happened, and it was nothing like what I had imagined.

Inside the Arc the blue glow suddenly turned nearly white in the middle, a strange wave like a thickening of the air traveled out from it soundlessly, hitting me, nearly knocking me back, but I managed to stay upright. Then the white darkened into the same shade of blue as before, and at the same time the cogs and gears it surrounded actually started to slow down.

”Yes!” Mr. Stark was moving instantly, running forward to hit the mechanism that would separate the Arc from the engine, leaving it to – hopefully – run on its own power.

As soon as he had moved the lever, he backed away, out of my chill, to stand by my side, and together we watched the spinning slow down even more. I feared that he had miscalculated, that it would slow and slow until it ground to a halt once more. But as we watched, the gears and cogs reached a speed and rhythm where they were once more possible to make out, and then it stabilized there. It did not slow down, it did not speed up, the glow stayed in place, and it ran with only a very faint, whirring, humming noise from the metal foundation holding it up.

”Stop the engine”, Mr. Stark ordered quietly.

I slowly pulled the cold air back from the Arc, tense and wary, but it remained exactly the same. So I gathered the cold from the machinery and the engine as well, formed it into a dense ball of chilled air, and carefully directed that into the fire running the engine, smothering it nearly instantly. The machinery ran for a few more long moments, then the gathered steam and momentum ran out and everything went still. Only the Arc was still moving, spinning on its own energy, and if Mr. Stark had been right, it would continue to do so forever.

”It's working”, I said, fascinated.

”Yes.” The wide, sparkling brown eyes turned to me, and in the next instant Mr. Stark's hands had caught mine. He pulled them to his mouth, kissing my frost-covered fingertips, even though the cold must have been enough to nearly burn him. ”And you made it possible”, he said, pressing my hands to his chest now, and gave me the widest, most brilliant smile anyone had ever given me.

I felt the ice on my fingers melt against his shirt, just as my heart was melting in my chest when he leaned down to cover my lips in light kisses, before catching them completely in a way that made my knees weak. The joy he felt was a tingling over his lips, one I could feel in turn, and I let my still cold fingers entwine with his where he held them to his heart.

* * *

That night Mr. Stark gathered the whole household for a meal in the formal dining room to celebrate his success, before it was time for him to begin working on implementing the energy from the Arc into the machines he wanted to invent, the ones he had spoken of since our work had begun.

It was obvious that we were all uncomfortable in this unfamiliar room, but the occasion certainly required it. The dinner Thomas had prepared was beyond excellent, with fresh fish and even mussles and the long, pink legs of some strange, monstrous crab I had never eaten before, which melted sweetly on the tongue. We were served a number of bottles of the rich, sweet golden wine I had tasted in Mr. Starks chambers before, and it soon made us forget about the extravagant surroundings, and the master of our house had a joy about him which was very infectious. I had never seen him in a better mood.

When the meal was coming to an end, Mr. Stark suddenly turned to Jarvis, who was sitting by his right side at the table. ”I have written a letter in answer to the one I received from Miss Romanoff yesterday”, he announced, holding his half empty glass. ”She will arrive here with her mother and two sisters in five day’s time. Make sure that the guestrooms are all well prepared and the reception rooms aired and dusted.” 

On Mr. Stark's left side, I could see nothing but his profile, but I saw that he was smiling still. I, on the other hand, was not. Even though I had suspected the message he had received to be from Natasha Romanoff, I had hoped the way he nad never mentioned it to mean that he had opted to ignore it.

Jarvis seemed slightly taken aback by this as well, but he recovered expertly and gave a light tilt of his tidy, gray head. A movement somewhere between a nod and a bow. ”Of course, sir.” 

The following days where a form of ordered chaos the likes of which I had never seen. While Mr. Stark retreated to his study to continue his work, Jarvis took complete charge of the house. Thomas prepared the food needed for the coming visitors. Sophie dusted and polished and changed beds. Clint scrubbed the stables so clean everything was shining, and then did the same to the dog pen and the aviary. I was the only one with no clearly set chores, but that did in no way mean I was free to go. Jarvis was quick to set me to work wherever he saw fit, and I ended up doing everything from peeling and cutting vegetables in the kitchen to climbing up ladders to dust the draperies in the dining room. Once I was even set to chop wood for the fires, but when Barton saw me picking up the axe I did not even have the time to swing it once before he came to stop me and take over. I was happy to let him.

On the day before the guests were set to arrive the house was cleaner and warmer and better lit than ever. Everything was in order.

I had barely seen Mr. Stark while we had all been busy getting the house prepared, but that night he came knocking on my door. He was barefoot on the floorboards, his shirt was hanging loose over his pants, and he was carrying a single candle to guide him through the dark hallway. We stood silent for a moment, then he turned and started walking back to his own room, without so much as a word. None were needed to tell me what he was asking; I had seen all of it in his dark eyes.

Perhaps I should have refused. Closed the door and spent the night in my own bed. I knew what the planned visit from Miss Romanoff had to mean, that it implied something I did not wish to dwell on, and that I would be far wiser to stay away. That I should guard my heart.

Little did I know that it was far too late for such precautions.

Behind his once more locked door he led me to his bed, where the bedspread and covers were already thrown back and slightly rumpled, as if he had gone to bed and then changed his mind and left it again. He freed us both of our clothes, nearly lifting me out of my pants. With his lips brushing mine and his arms around my back I barely noticed when we sank down on the sheets, cool beneath our already feverish bodies. One of his thighs was between mine, his hip pushing heated hardness against mine, a hand in my hair guiding my mouth to his.

When he let me go long enough for us to breathe, I let my hands wander over his back, feeling firm muscles, the planes of his shoulderblades. My fingers burned with a wish to know every inch of his skin.

”Please”, I whispered against his throat, close enough to taste the salt, ”show me what you want me to do.”

He moaned into my hair, drew me in even closer, and then he did show me. 

I had already mastered frost and ice. Slowly, patiently and with great pleasure, that night Stark taught me all about heat and fire. His large hand guided my smaller one over his skin, mapping out every spot to make him gasp and moan my name, until he cupped his other hand around the back of my head and brought my mouth to his chest, wordlessly asking me to taste him. I felt the coarse hairs and the tightening bud of skin under my lips as I brushed by a nipple, and the way he hissed and buried his fingers deeper in my hair made me certain I was melting.

Stark was sitting with his back leaning against pillows and the high, carved headboard of the bed by then, and when I dared to glance up his head was tilted back against the dark wood as well, his eyes closed and mouth fallen open. I was straddling one of his thighs, leaning in over him with my arms planted by his sides. When I knew he was not watching me, I shifted back a little, letting my eyes wander down his dark chest and abdomen, to the lines of his hip, the soft creases of skin where his other leg was angled up and slightly tilted to the side. The hardened length of him was resting between his hipbones now, as if straining up to meet me, and I was suddenly unable to tear my eyes away, until I felt a hand slip in under my chin. It raised my head until my eyes were on Stark's face again. His eyes were open now and darkened by want, but still gentle, silently searching mine.

Unconsciously I licked my lips, wetting them and tasting his skin all over again. The act made him smile, and then he let go of my chin.

“Help me”, I heard myself murmur. “Teach me how.”

My words turned his eyes even darker, and his hand moved into my hair once more, guiding me further down, showing me to kneel between his legs and as I let a hand stroke the skin by his hip, moving down, I felt like I was worshipping him. Sitting above me, before me, he was gazing down at me like some dark yet still benevolent deity. I could feel the pulse of blood and life and lust under my palm. I could smell his body and want, taste it in the back of my mouth even before I had parted my lips to take him in. He felt heavy and rich and warm on my tongue, soft and smooth skin over hardness, a taste like the musky smell of him, and a sharp, bitter slickness. And then his deep and breathy moans reached my ears. I thought my offering had been well received, and in my chest my heart leapt with joy from the knowledge that I could draw noises like those from his lips.

His hand showed me the way without ever using force or applying pressure, so I was allowed to explore freely, until I was out of breath, my arms weak, and all I could do was rest my face in the angle of his hip. There he caressed my hair and the hollow of my cheek until I could raise my head again, and then he reached for me.

“Come here, you perfect little creature”, he smiled at me. “I want you closer.”

Strong arms placed me astride his hips, and he drew me in, made me fall against his chest and lips. Kissing me, caressing me, until I had to cling to the headboard behind him to keep uright. By the time his slick fingers came to enter and prepare me, my knuckles were already white. But the soreness from the first time had healed and dissipated, and it didn't hurt me at all.

This time, I was not helplessly caught in his hands and gravity's pull. With my knees firmly in the mattress under us, my hands holding the bedframe, I was able to find the leverage I needed to move on my own. And as soon as Stark had settled himself inside me, I was allowed to do so. Encouraged to do so. Spurred on by the heat in his groans and the glow in his eyes. But still it was a slow thing, almost lazy, the way I moved on top of him, yet somehow still intense. My body was fully comitted, every muscle working toward a common goal. The way we kissed was the same; slow and lazy and still searing with heat. The burn from his lips went beneath the skin, branded me, while my movements ineviably drove us both over the edge, marked me his.

And I never even knew it.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff was perhaps even more beautiful than I remembered her. Now, when she had put away the heavy winter clothes and was dressed for a formal visit rather than a hunt in the woods, she was radiant. Mother-of-pearl combs fastened her red curls around her head in an artful way, her dress was in rich shades of cream and gold, and she moved as if she was dancing on the dainty feet I saw hints of under the hem of her skirts.

Strangely, however, she looked nothing like her mother or two younger sisters. The elderly widow Romanoff was a tall woman who had obviously once been a great beauty, just like her eldest daughter, but her more narrow face and golden colors had nothing in common with Miss Romanoff's heart-shaped face and red on white contrasts. The two sisters reminded very much of their mother, however, so perhaps Natasha simply had her features and coloration after their father, just the way I now knew I had myself.

Having guests in the house was a very unfamiliar experience. Made even more unfamiliar by the fact that the guests were three women, of a kind I had never been around before. Their peals of laughter were like strange music in the rooms, the colors of their dresses made me think of huge butterflies come to settle on the furniture, and somehow their presence changed something about the atmosphere in the house. There were more smiles, I heard singing, they played games, and there was suddenly more laughter and lighthearted conversations. Even Mr. Stark changed, and joined in both the games and the smiles and the conversations, although never the singing or the laughter.

Me? Well, I had no place in the fine, well dressed company. I was neither one of the servants expected to care for the ladies, nor one of the guests expected to take part in the games or conversations. So I did the best I could to stay out of sight and out of mind, unused to strangers' eyes on me. 

I succeeded in this until the third afternoon of the visit. I was hiding in the library with a book when the doors to the wide room opened and Mr. Stark and the four guests appeared. It was obvious that he was showing them this part of the house, pointing out the high windows and the gold-and-silver wood carvings around the bookshelves. Since I was sitting in the window as usual, a leg pulled up to my chest, half behind the curtain, they did not notice my presence at first.

Natasha was the one who did, her sharp, gray eyes falling on me when I was closing the book and putting it down by my side, ready to leave if asked. I froze under the gaze, and saw her turn to Mr. Stark who was standing by her side. ”You do allow your servants the strangest liberties, Edward”, she said, her voice slightly sharper than I had heard it before, a hint of disapproval in the words.

Hearing her call him 'Edward' gave me that shifting, falling feeling inside, made me cold and turned my stomach into knots of distress, for reasons I couldn't name. I swallowed hard, hoping they would not notice. They, because now Mr. Stark was turning to follow her pointing finger with a confused expression on his face. As soon as he saw me in the window his features smoothed out, and I could see him shrug as he turned to smile down at the woman by his side. 

”Oh, I most certainly do not, my dear”, he assured her. ”Loki is no servant. He has been helping me in my work, but since I am now occupied with your company I have left him idle, I'm afraid.”

”Your work?” Her eyes finally left me to meet his, curiosity in the way her head tilted forward. ”What could such a fragile thing help you with?” A smile curled her full, rose red lips, and I saw her hand travel up his arm, fingertips tracing the line of muscle I knew was hiding under his clothes. Knew, because I had so recently traced it with my own fingers and lips.

”You think a strong arm the solution to any problem, Natasha?” But he was smiling as he said it, not as gruff as he might have been.

”Certainly not.” She tilted her head slightly further back, most likely giving him the perfect view of her milk white throat and the smooth flesh filling the bodice of her dress. ”But I find it hard to believe that your mind could not solve any your arm would fail with.”

”Hm, flattery it is then?” Mr. Stark seemed amused by the very idea.

”I would call it truth.” Her hand was still on his arm, and just when I wished she would remove it, he instead moved closer.

Before this day, I had never felt like I could be masculine enough. Now, watching Mr. Stark place his hand around that delicate curve of a waist to lean in and brush a whisper by the white shell of her ear, nestled in the red curls, I for the first time felt that I might be too much of a man. I found myself wishing I could shed my male form, like a snake its skin, and turn into whatever would inspire that gentle little smile he was giving _her_ at this moment.

Of course, I knew it to be a useless, senseless wish. Not only because it was an impossibility, but also because even if I could, I would still be no match for Miss. Romanoff in all her glory. I would still be small, frail and plain. I would still be me.

Turning my head from them as the small company gathered and started walking out of the library again, I stared out of the window, hugging both my arms around my pulled up leg. The book by my side now completely forgotten. It was so very strange how I could have rested in Mr. Stark's arms, shared my body with him, and never for a moment understood the nature of my feelings for him until I saw him so close to another. My eyes fell shut, sealing the feeling inside as I recognized it for what it was, at last.

I loved him. 

Of course I loved him. How had I not seen it before? How could I not love him? This man who saw me for what I was, who never pretended I was not small and weak, but who still knew that I had value. Who knew there was more on the inside than the body showed. This man who was not afraid to put me to work, but who also cared for me, saw to my needs before and far more than his own. This man who reached for a new chance, a better world, and had made me part of his work and his dreams and his passions.

Yes, I loved him. And why did I have to understand this now, just when it was becoming obvious that I was losing him?

Because of course – of course! - this was no mere social visit, and everyone knew that well enough. I had known it, even before the guests had arrived, but I had refused to let myself think the thought all the way through. My heart had known how it would hurt me, and had silenced my mind. Now, when the fact was on everyone's lips and in everyone's eyes, I could no longer hide from it.

Mr. Stark was going to marry Miss Romanoff.

The words had never been officially said, nothing was settled, nothing put to paper, no promises or vows spoken, but it was clear for all to see that the young lady had her eye on the master of the house. She was always the one closest to him, sitting or standing by his side, taking any chance to put a hand on his, or his arm. Any excuse to be alone with 'her darling Edward' was used. A walk alone in the flowering gardens? By all means. A ride to the village so that she could buy the special kind of honey she absolutely must have? Certainly. 

None of that might have meant anything on its own, still. Any woman could be expected to find a man attractive, even one who was not considered handsome, if he owned house, title and riches. Who could blame her?

What made me certain, and what hurt me, was the way Mr. Stark responded to her actions. He even seemed to hold back his usual roughness and attempt a gentle way of speaking and acting around Miss Romanoff, one completely new to my eyes. He helped her in and out of the carriage, led her down the stairs, pushed her chairs in, listened patiently to her words.

And the longer the visit lasted, the less I understood why.

Natasha Romanoff was indeed gorgeous, but I soon came to see that behind the surface of soft perfection something different was hiding. Her gray eyes, always so warm when she spoke to Mr. Stark, were often cold and sharp when he was not in the room. They seemed to watch everything around her, taking in everything and being impressed with absolutely nothing. She was impatient with Sophie, who was set to take care of her every need, and was never pleased or grateful for anything, but no-one seemed to expect anything else from her, not even polite gratitude. And Mr. Stark, of course, saw none of it.

Miss Romanoff also seemed to have taken a more personal dislike to me than to the servants. Even though she had no apparent appreciation for their efforts, at least she could see their use in the house, while I, to her critical eye, was a useless mouth to feed. I did nothing but wander the gardens or read in the library, and I filled no purpose she could understand. Since I knew that Mr. Stark's work was now done, that he truly had no further use of me, this was a source of concern for me as well, but her feelings went beyond a lack of understanding. That much became obvious one day when I was walking up the stairs to my room, eyes on my feet and the steps, not seeing who I was meeting until her silver-gray skirts came into view and I nearly fell into her trying to come to a quick enough halt. Hoping that I would not see her face when I looked up, I slowly raised my eyes. But of course, I had no luck, and the cold porcelain face and red hair filled my vision. On even footing she was still slightly taller than me, and here, a couple of steps above me on the stairs, she towered over me.

”Where are you going?” Her dark, red eyebrows pulled together over her perfect little nose. ”There are only guestrooms on this floor.”

”Yes, miss, I am well aware.” Did she honestly think I did not know the house where I lived? ”One of those rooms is mine, however, and that is where I am going. If you would excuse me?”

I bowed my head again, and started to move aside to let her pass and continue up the stairs, but I saw her move as well, sidestepping to block my way. Not completely, but enough that I would have to push past her to pass. Which I of course could not do. Swallowing I raised my head again, to find her gray eyes on me.

”Why is he keeping you around, Loki?” The frown on her face was still in place. ”What use are you?”

”I have helped Mr. Stark in his work, miss.” It was a struggle to keep my voice calm and even. I was so unsure about how to handle her, what was the right way to escape her unharmed. If there even was a way. 

With Mr. Stark I had still been the one of lower status, but even when he had been so cool and distanced in the beginning his rough ways and gruff words had betrayed something deeper and passionate behind it. And the lack of politeness had given me a kind of upper hand, as long as I was able to not let him shock me out of it. It had become almost a game, of sorts, to engage in a conversation with him.

Miss Romanoff was not polite, not exactly, but she was definitely not rough or gruff, and if there was some form of passion at all behind her level gaze, I could not guess at it.

”Yes, so he tells me.” The gray eyes narrowed slightly. ”But not what you have been doing to help him, more precisely.”

I wondered why. But if he hadn't told her, I was certain it was not my place to do so for him. ”I cannot tell you, miss. You should ask my employer.”

”Well then.” She raised her sharp chin. ”I shall. And when I have made sure he can do without you, as I have no doubt is the case, I will advise him to make you unemployed once more.”

With that, she gathered her skirts in her hands and swept past me without another look. 

Walking slowly up the stairs and the rest of the way to my room, where I sat down on the bed to stare out of the window, I realized that even if she could never convince Mr. Stark to get rid of me, and even if he perhaps had more work for me to help him in, my days at Ironthorn Hall were numbered. I had no place here, and I clearly wasn't wanted.

The day the master of the house married, would have to be the day I left it.

* * *

When nearly three weeks had passed Natasha Romanoff and her family had still not returned to their home.

I had grown used to keeping away and out of sight by then, returning to old, childhood habits, yet somehow it still hurt me that Mr. Stark never asked after me. Even though I knew it shouldn't have. I had no right to be hurt. I had no right to anything but my salary; which I no longer worked to earn, so perhaps I did not even have a right to that much.

What little I saw of my employer these days, he seemed to have begun growing restless. I knew the drive to be in the workroom and experimenting with the Arc's possibilities must be nearly overwhelming by now, and I was surprised that he had been able to keep away for so long; Natasha must really have captivated his interest. Not once during these weeks had I seen him even get close to the door under the stairway, and he did nothing to indicate that he was planning on cutting the visit short.

The only strange thing to happen during these weeks was something I caught a glimpse of one day when I visited the stables. Going there was another escape from the house, and the buckskin mare was at least always pleased to see me, even if it was mostly for the green grass and leaves I brought her. I was scratching her yellow neck when I heard voices, which surprised me since I had thought I would be alone outside on this gray and foggy day. Curiosity had always been in my nature, and I left the mare to softly walk up to the back door of the stables, leading out to the smaller yard where the dog pen and the aviary was. Staying in the shadows I could see the yard without being seen, which turned out to be a good thing.

In the middle of the yard was Clint, a black-and-white dog resting by his feet. He was speaking to the last person I had thought to find here, of all places; Miss Romanoff. She was dressed in a rather simple brown dress, which did not suit her colors at all, probably to not risk staining any of her finer ones. They were not standing very close on the cobbles, but something in the intense way their eyes met, heads leaning forward, gave me the impression that they were sharing something far more intimate than could be expected. Frozen in place, I studied them, listening intently, but couldn't hear any of their soft, quick words, only the hum of their voices, before Miss Romanoff turned and walked off into the gardens.

Frowning, I turned to go back the way I had come, wondering what I had just witnessed, and what it might mean.

Other than this incident – if it might even be called such – the days passed in the same manner, until one night when it became clear to me that the dinner was turning into a feast and a party. Standing at the top of the stairs in the dark I could hear the loud voices and laugher, the clink of cutlery and the chiming of crystal glasses. When I returned to my room, I realized that I could still hear most of it, and that I would never be able to go to sleep with those sounds grating at my nerves. So after pulling on my green jacket as protection against the early summer night chill, which couldn't harm me but was still too damp for my liking, I hurried down the stairs as quietly as I could.

Before I reached the floor and could sneak outside however, the two younger Romanoff sisters wandered past on the way from the dining room to the reception room across the hallway, and I just managed to hide in the shadows.

”Where did Edward go?” The younger one turned to her sister.

”Perhaps to fetch more wine? You know how he likes to do that himself.”

”Yes. Natasha is right”, the younger continued as they disappeared through the next doorway, ”he does have strange habits.”

So Mr. Stark was not with the rest of the company? That was strange. A hint of worry moved in my heart, even though I could not say why. Perhaps I should try to find him? But sneaking around the house like this did not appeal to me, so I took the chance to get out of the house now when no-one was in sight.

It was very late and would have been very dark, if the night hadn't been clear and lit by a nearly full moon, hanging almost eerily low in the star-studded sky. The sweet fragrance of flowers open in the night followed me as I wandered in the silent gardens, wondering where Mr. Stark might have gone. Or perhaps he was once more back with his guests, and I was worrying for nothing.

Suddenly, as I was walking along one of the wider paths, I heard a huff of familiar laughter behind me. I turned around quickly to find Mr. Stark sitting on a bench half hidden in the moon shadow cast by the chestnut tree.

”I should have guessed you would be the one to find me.” His words were slurred, I could smell the drink on his breath even from this distance, and without seeing his face clearly I still knew that he was very intoxicated. Likely, this was the reason he was out here, alone, seeking the fresh air in an attempt to sober up. It seemed to have failed.

”Perhaps that is because I was the only one who thought to search, sir.” I walked across the path and came to sit down on the bench, close to the opposite end from where Mr. Stark was leaning back heavily, his head tilting in a strange angle to follow my movements. Glancing at him, I realized I had hardly seen him in over a week. Even if I didn't take the current state of him into account, he seemed tired and worn.

”Yes, they would do just as well without me.” He sighed. ”Wouldn't they?”

”I have no way of knowing, sir.”

”No, perhaps not.” He slowly rolled forward, until he was sitting with his elbows against his thighs. His head was hanging down, but he still turned it to watch me. ”But by now you have seen my future wife, have you not?”

”I have.”

”She leaves very little to wish for.” The way his eyes never left my face had me shifting on the bench. ”Any man would be so lucky. That is what they tell me.”

”Yes, sir.” I felt my teeth clench.

”What would you tell me, Loki?”

With a quick movement I turned back to stare at him. For a few moments I had no words, but then I decided that I should answer, since he had asked me. ”I would tell you, sir, that once you told me that you were not sure that you needed something soft and beautiful in your life. That all you had ever known was metal, and that you might not know what to do with something soft if you had it.” I made myself breathe. ”I would tell you that perhaps you should take your own advice. Sir." I added the title after a brief pause.

Now he was staring at me. ”Damn you and your reasonable advice, Loki”, he finally muttered.

After that we sat in silence for a long time. More than once I thought I should get to my feet and leave him there, but I could not. In the house the windows were still burning with bright lights, and I knew the guests were still enjoying themselves. They truly seemed to do just as well without their host.

”Loki?”

I turned to find him blinking at me. ”Sir?”

”I should get to bed.” He sighed, heavily. His eyes seemed about ready to fall shut. ”Would you help me?”

That was one of very, very few times I had ever heard him ask me for something, instead of ordering me. All I could do was nod, stand and walk the few paces over to his side. Still, despite everything, I couldn't refuse him.

Very unsteadily he got to his feet, but he managed on his own so far. He then placed a heavy arm around my shoulders, and I got my right arm around his back, in an attempt to hold him steady and upright.

”I am lucky to have you.”

A dark, miserable part of me wanted to add 'for now – you have me for now', but I forced it down. Doing so seemed to push other thoughts to the surface, however.

”And who am I to you, sir?” It was a question I knew I really should not be asking, but I couldn't stop myself.

”Who?” He turned his head to give me a bleary-eyed look, clearly unsteady on his feet, and had to take a step to the side to keep standing. The way his arm was still clinging to my shoulders pulled me along in the movement, even when I would attempt to keep him steady. ”You are the one I lean on, of course.” A hot hand squeezed my shoulder tighter. ”You are my right hand man.”

”Is that truly what you would have me be?” I stared at the ground, pulling at him, holding him up. ”A man?” The bitterness in my voice made my tongue curl, but I suspected he would never make the tone out in this state. And it really made no difference; I would most likely still have been unable to keep the words in even if he had been sober. Before me passed the memories of how he had touched me, kissed me, had me – only to now spurn me in favor of a woman's soft, sweet beauty and charms.

When he suddenly came to a halt, he nearly pulled me off my feet as my body kept moving forward, only to be stopped short by his weight and strength. He shook my arm off himself, went to grab both my shoulders so that he could force me to face him, and I knew there would be bruises on my skin the next day, one for each of the fingertips digging into my flesh. 

Even when his face was slightly slack, his eyes not perfectly focused, I saw the intense seriousness in his expression. ”What I would have you be, Loki”, he muttered, ”is yourself.”

I could feel my lips part, but no words would form behind them.

”A gentle creature of pure steel.” His grip eased up slightly as he spoke, moving me closer to him at the same time. ”All warm heart under the frost.”

Then out of seemingly nowhere his hands were in my hair, pulling me in, and his mouth was on mine. He tasted of sour wine and he was far too rough, his teeth clashing with mine. Even so, even when I was pushing to get him off me, my thirsty lips were begging for more of him. I made myself follow through with the movement anyway, and backed away from him, a hand still out to hold him off.

”Please, sir. Don't.” The words caught in my throat.

He stared at me, his face twisted with some emotion I could not name. Then he turned, without another word, and walked off towards the house. The steps were far from steady, he nearly fell into a rosebush before he was so far into the dark that I couldn't make him out anymore, but I made no move to help him. I knew that he wouldn't thank me.

* * *

In the following days I came to the conclusion that I could not even bear to stay in the house until the day of the marriage. The meeting with Mr. Stark in the gardens had made me sure of it, and every time I saw his face thereafter it looked more tired and worn, and I was wondering why he was so willing to give up everything he had lived for until now, for this cold, selfish woman? I would have to watch him fade and wilt, like a flower out of the sun, deprived of water, and I knew I couldn't. Somehow, it felt even worse than simply seeing him happy with someone else. If Miss Romanoff had been a warm, kindhearted person worthy of having him, if she had embraced his passions and shared in them, I would have been able to take the edge off my cutting pain with that knowledge.

As it was, I knew I would never be able to stand it.

The third night after his drunken kiss, I did not sleep at all. The long, dark hours I spent thinking about how I should best tell him that I would be leaving. Soon. Immediately, if he let me. No, he would have to let me! I was resigning. There was nothing left here.

I would return to Starwood. Frigga would find a use for me, of that I had no doubt. There was always a need for teachers there, someone who could help the children harness their powers. That was good, worthwhile work, and work I could do.

As if he had felt me thinking about him, Mr. Stark came searching for me the next day, for the first time since he had last brought me to his room. He found me in the stables, where I was saying goodbye to the mare with a handful of grass and leaves. I didn't even notice him watching me until I had fed her the last straw, scratched her wide forehead, and turned to leave. Then he was standing not far away from me, and I startled badly enough to startle the mare in turn. She calmed down quickly, however. I did not.

Once giving me a scare like that would have made him smirk at me, teasing and pleased with himself. Now he watched me with serious, dark eyes, mouth slightly tense, but not with a smile.

”Walk with me, Loki”, he said, the words softly carrying the order. ”I would have words with you.”

Ah, yes. Words. And I knew which words they would be. Still I had no choice but to pull a breath, square my shoulders, and nod before following him out into the gardens again. Although this walk was very different from our last one. It was the middle of the day, and Mr. Stark was as sober and proper as could be expected. Well dressed, hair more tidy than I had seen it in a long time. Only his face was still weary, lined, his eyes shadowed.

We walked in silence all the way to the far end of the garden, where we would be well hidden by trees and bushes and invisible from the house. Not until we were there did he stop and turn to me, making me do the same.

”I have something I must tell you”, he started and then, strangely, hesitated. 

”No, sir”, I murmured in the silence, ”there is no need.”

”And why is that?” His head tilted to the side, his brow furrowing thoughtfully.

Did he think I didn't know? No, that was impossible. He himself had asked me if I hadn't met his future wife, had he not? He knew. Clenching teeth and fists I tried to swallow down the cold, freezing, burning anger that awoke in my heart then. I tried so very hard, but I didn't succeed completely, I knew that as soon as I opened my mouth and heard the chill of it in my voice.

”I know that I am small and plain and poor, Mr. Stark”, I said, voice so much clearer now, ”but even so, I still hold the same value you do. I am still human!” The hand I put to my chest then was far too cold, I could feel the ice coat my palm, unbidden, in a way it hadn't done in many years. ”If you cut me I will bleed, sir, just like you. So please, keep your sharp words away, or you might bleed me dry.”

”There is nothing sharp in what I came here to say, Loki”, he reassured, shaking his head. “Nothing that could possibly hurt you.”

I could tell by his tone that he was trying to soothe me, but I was beyond that, and I did not believe him. All the tenderness he had given, and then taken from me again, had cut me too deep. For a moment I could only stare, the doubts and disbelief I felt probably etched in every line on my face, before I found words.

”You bring me here to tell me that you are taking a wife, and you think it will not hurt me?” I swallowed, hard, but managed to continue before Mr. Stark could speak. ”Then either you are blind, to think I wouldn't care after everything we have shared. Or you are simply cruel enough to ignore the knowledge of what it will do to me.” I shook my head. ”I'm not sure which would be worse. Or if I wish to know which one is the truth.”

His hand reached for me then, but I shifted away and back, just out of reach. If he touched me now I would fall apart.

”Loki, please.” Patience in his voice. As if he was explaining something that should be simple, something I just didn't grasp. ”I am neither blind nor cruel. Neither is the truth. You have it all wrong.”

Still, I could do nothing but stare, waiting to hear what he would say.

”I came here to tell you that if you ask it of me, I will not take a wife. Not now, not ever. If you ask it, I will send Miss Romanoff away and never discuss another betrothal.”

The world turned strangely gray and distant, and I made myself breathe. ”What?!” I was by far too shocked to even pretend at a polite turn of phrase. 

A small smile showed on his lips now, barely there, but I still saw it. ”You were right, when you told me to take my own advice.” He sighed, and glanced away for a moment. ”I truly have no need for something soft, and I have no idea what to do with it. These weeks have shown me that.” Then he turned back to meet my eyes. ”I know only metal, and what I need – what I _want_ \- is steel.”

My breath escaped me, my heart stopped. I was surely dying. Or at least, I was dreaming.

”What are you saying to me?” All it was, was a choked whisper.

”I am saying that I need you, Loki.” Mr. Stark raised his hands in a strangely helpless gesture towards me. ”To lean on. To be my company.”

I couldn't make sense of what he was saying to me, still. What did he wish for, truly?

”And if I ask you to turn her away, Mr. Stark? If I tell you not to marry Miss Romanoff, or any other? What then?”

”Then nothing would have to change.” Again he reached for me, and again I backed away. I was far from ready to give in. ”You would no longer work for me, of course. That would be out of the question. But other than that? Nothing. You would live here, with me, safe from all the world, and I would give you everything you ever needed.” Mr. Stark sighed and smiled. ”I would love and treasure you, forever. You'd want for nothing.”

Love. Had he said that word to me? Truly? Yes, he had... And I nearly let it distract me from everything else he had just told me. Nearly, but not completely. 

”If I would no longer work for you, sir, then what would I be?”

”Anything you wanted to be.” His smile widened.

”The last time we spoke, you told me you would have me be myself, sir.” I swallowed, felt my hands turn to tense fists once more. ”I will always be grateful for those words, but now I believe that is not enough. What I wish for, truly, is to be your equal.”

”Is that not what I am offering you?” He frowned. ”And how could we not be equals already?” The volume of his voice rose, and his hands came out in a sharp, almost angry gesture. I was beginning to see frustration, and somehow that felt more honest than anything he had shown me before. ”Loki! I owe you my life!”

I couldn't deny that, of course, since I knew the truth of it, and I was sure he really was deeply grateful. And in that moment, yes, right then that might even make us equals, because who, if not him, did I owe the life I had? The roof over my head, the food I ate, the clothes on my back, every penny I owned, the opportunity to do something valuable with my time, and skills... All of it, I had because of him.

I also knew, that this was the very reason we would never be truly equal, as things stood. 

While I had saved him but once, kept him alive when fire would have taken him had I not been there to do the simple duty of any human being seeing a fellow man in danger, the debt I owed _him_ grew every day. He would one day feel his gratitude wane, the memory of the events that day would fade, and then he would back away enough to see the scales, and know they had long ago tipped in his favor. That the one debt he owed, had been outweighed by the endless days of gratitude I would owe him.

The red number in his ledger was constant. Mine was growing, with every passing moment.

Considering the life he was offering me did nothing to help.

As his lover, and nothing more, I would still be completely dependent upon him giving me everything I needed in this life. Food, shelter, clothes. Anything I had would in reality be his, and I would no longer even have the knowledge that I had worked for it, used my skills for some greater good.

Instead of his tool, I would be nothing more than his treasure. He would no longer just have bought my time and my work; this time he truly would own me, and everything I was. And unlike the tool he had valued and been proud of, this treasure would have to be hidden away, never revealed to the world. Because even the eccentric loner that he was, the hermit locked away with his science, was not immune to the “useless conventions” of the world, just as he had tried to tell me before, when I had not been able to understand his words. Now I did understand, that even Mr. Edward Stark would never consider openly sharing his life with a man.

Even to him, it was one step too far.

Was that a life I _was_ willing to share, if that was the only way? If that was what he had to offer me? Be his closely guarded dark secret? Smothered in honey and velvet, when all I wanted was freedom and purpose?

No. The answer was no, and I knew it.

”We are not equals, sir, and I doubt we ever can be.” I made my back straighten. ”You say you need me, but you do not. You say you want me, and you are willing to pay to have me. But equality can never be bought.”

”You twist my words!” Scowling, he reached for a third time, and this time I did not get away before his hands were around my shoulders, holding me in a firm grip so he could look down at my face. ”I simply want you here with me, not to own you!”

”But you still would!” My voice was suddenly loud, and I surprised myself when I raised my arms to shake, bat, hit his hands away from me. I knew what I must do, and I couldn't stand doing it if he touched me. If I had to remember what that was like. ”And I would rather be put to good use than owned! I am no treasure, Mr. Stark.”

”You are to me!” The frustration was shifting to a deeper and sharper desperation, hurt rasping in his words as he pressed a palm to his wide chest. ”And I do need you! You are the ray of sunshine and drink of water. So please, you sweet, foolish boy! Put an end to this, and _ask me_!”

In my chest, my frost-covered heart was shattering, but I knew but one answer to give him.

”Then I ask you, Mr. Stark, to go back to Miss Romanoff and tell her that you are marrying her.” Somehow, I kept my voice firm through it all.

He blinked at me, looking dumbfounded, as if he had thought it impossible for me to tell him those words. ”And you?” Hi sounded hoarse, even more sharply pained. ”What will you do then?”

”Leave, sir. Find a new place and a new purpose.”

I saw his eyes blacken, his face turn pale and slack with shock. 

“You so reasonably adviced me not to marry her, only a few days ago”, he said, slowly, like he had trouble finding the words. “Have you changed your mind now?”

“Perhaps I was wrong to presume to give you advice at all, sir.” I wished now I had kept my mouth shut, at least. “Anyone can see that you want her, soft or not. Ignore my advice, Mr. Stark. It was not my place to give it.”

“I do not!” Now he scowled at me, suddenly angry, as if I had insulted him. ”And I will not ignore your advice! I would have more of it.”

Once more I was confused. I felt my brows furrow. “I don't understand”, I all but muttered. “Why? If you do not want her, why invite her? Why make me your tool and put me to use, if only to put me aside again, for her?”

“Because I should!” Suddenly and harshly, he was nearly shouting at me. His face was dark, more stormy than I had ever seen it. “I should want her! Everyone tells me I should be lucky to have her, this soft beauty, and treasue her. But I cannot. I _will_ not!”

I remembered then how he had been so certain his first kiss would frighten me away from him, from this house, but now I thought he had been the one frightened. The one trying to run. Had he but come running to me, I could have soothed his fears, been his shield and shelter, but he had not. He had turned from me, run to _her_ , and broken my heart.

“Then you must do what you should have done all along, Mr. Stark”, I told him, my pain speaking for me, shards of ice in my tone. “Since neither of us can have what we want.”

He stared at me then, and I thought something might be breaking inside of him as well. But it was too late; I was too hurt and shattered and frozen to know the meaning of the pain flashing over his face. 

”Don't leave me!” A hissing whisper threatening to turn to a sob. ”Please, Loki. Don't.” One of his hands reached for me, but not to grab me; he was just offering his hand this time, as open and pleading as his words. “Stay.”

He was all broken desperation now, and I would have cried from the hurt in his words alone, if I had been truly able to hear it. But I hardened myself and swallowed it down. If I allowed myself tears now they would never end, and they would help neither of us. My choice was made, it was final, it was steel, and could not be changed. And I stood as stiff as the metal he himself had named me, arms by my sides, unmoving and unmoved, until he at last relented. 

He backed away a step, face twisted with pain. ”I beg you, Loki. Ask.” I barely recognized his voice now.

”I have, sir.” My own was nearly as foreign to me.

Then I turned my back and left him there, because that was all I could do.

* * *

Only when darkness had fallen outside and there were no sounds coming from the house did I open the door to my room and venture out into the corridor. I had been hiding there all day, door locked. Twice Mr. Stark had come knocking, whispering my name and more pleases, but I had never given any answer.

I had considered packing, but instead I had simply dressed in all my most well-made and durable clothes and taking nothing more with me than the money in my pocket. The journey back to Starwood was long, and would likely be mostly on foot, so I did not want to carry more than I needed to. After sneaking down the stairs, avoiding all the creaking steps I knew so well by now, I stopped in front of the main doors however, thinking. I would need food, and that wouldn't be too heavy to carry, even for me. So I turned to the kitchen, thinking I would find something to bring, even if that would mean stealing it. At the moment, I was willing to risk the crime.

As soon as I opened the door to the kitchen I picked up the sour smell of wine, and stopped on the threshold. There was a lamp burning on the table, illuminating the scene in front of me. Leaning over the wooden surface, his head resting on his arms, was Mr. Stark. All around him were empty bottles and dirty glasses, one tipped over so the red liquid had spilled everywhere, even staining his shirt. His head was tilted to the side, and the lamplight fell on the side of his face I could see. Even in his drunken sleep his eyebrows were knitted over his nose, and I saw the light reflect off a shine that could only be tears. Before I could think, I felt my arm begin to rise in a wish to touch him, to brush the streaks of tears from his cheek, my whole body leaning into the room to come closer. But I stopped myself, made myself instead back away and close the door as carefully and quietly as I could, leaving as empty handed as I had come.

When I slipped out through the front door and hurried down the driveway to the road, tears were streaming down my own face. I had to wipe them away to see where to place my feet on the gravel, but still I never once turned to look behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry? *ducking for cover*)


	7. Not In My Nature

Following my escape from Ironthorn Hall came the four worst days of my life. 

Heartbroken and confused, I made my way to the village. There I waited, miserable and shivering from the cold inside my chest, until dawn came and brought a stagecoach to the square. I asking to go as far as the money I had would take me, thinking that this would bring me at least half way to Starwood, if I was lucky. Then I climbed inside the coach and fell asleep, rocked by its movements. 

When I was shaken awake, we had come to a halt and the driver told me I had come as far as I could be allowed to go for that payment. I nodded a thank you, before I got out onto the road. Pulled from sleep, rubbing my eyes to clear them, it took me a few moments to realize that something was horribly wrong. The landscape around me was nothing like I had expected it to be; it had turned into rolling moors, all wind-twisted bushes and heather as far as the eye could see in any direction. And suddenly I knew the mistake I had made; I had traveled as far as I possibly could in the wrong direction. I was not half way closer to Starwood, but the same distance even further away from it.

I was lost.

The few memories I now have of the four days that followed are hazy, at best. My broken heart was a constant weight on me, I was cold in a way I had never felt before, and even through the tired numbness of my body hunger and thirst soon made themselves known as I wandered along the narrow road, back the way I had come. I spent my nights, damp with dew and thoroughly miserable, hiding in the heather. It was high enough to reach past my knees and kept the worst of the wind off me, at least. During the days I walked, each step slower than the last.

I passed two villages. In the first one I found a well at the town square and could at least drink my fill of water, but I was still too proud to beg for food by then. That had changed by the time I reached the second village, however, but all I received for my troubles was strange, confused looks and dismissive headshakes. My clothes were too well made, and I did not have the look of a beggar or vagabond. They must have thought me odd, with no idea what to make of me, and I couldn't find it in me to blame them for turning me away, not even when the hunger had begun turning to pained desperation. The only food I ever had during those days was a piece of bread an old man reluctantly offered me, and some stale porridge a girl was carrying out to feed her pigs.

It was not enough, not nearly enough. Even for my small body. And by the afternoon of the fourth day, I knew I didn't have much life left in me. By then I had found I could summon frost on my palms, to let it melt to water there so I could quench at least the most painful thirst, but I barely had the strength to do that anymore either. Soon I would be helpless.

Wandering aimlessly over the moor, barely seeing the ground I stumbled over, I didn't notice that I was getting closer to a small cottage, isolated far from the village. In the gathering dark I came very close to walking straight into the stone wall surrounding the building, and in my drained, delirious state I couldn't understand what was suddenly blocking my path. Falling to my knees, palms and forehead pressed against the stones, I had to rest for a long time before I could manage to stand and keep walking along the wall, supporting myself on it until I reached a gate low enough to let me see the house hidden behind the wall. The building was also made of stone, low walls under a thatched roof, light burning behind the windows.

A metal sign was fitted into the wall by the gate, and tracing the letters with my fingers I could make out what had to be the name of this place: Strife's End.

Pushing the gate open I nearly fell onto the path leading up to the door, and only by leaning heavily on the wall by it did I keep myself upright when I reached my goal. When I turned my head to one of the windows, I could see a fire burning in the room inside and a man sitting in a chair, lit by the flames. I couldn't make out more of him than dark hair and dark clothes, but at least someone was at home. Someone might hear me and help me. A shuddering sigh of relief left me then, but I shouldn't have thought myself saved so soon. 

As I turned back to reach the door, I somehow stumbled on my own feet, too heavy and numb to move, and fell down. The rough landing hurt. I had hit a knee hard on the paved path and scraped a palm badly, but worse yet was that I had landed too far from the door to reach it now. As frustrated, tired, frightened tears ran down my cheeks I used my last remaining strength to pull myself closer, and just managed to place a knock on the door. Yet even when my knuckles connected with the wood, I knew it was done too softly. No-one inside would ever hear it. And true enough; as I lay there waiting, no-one came to open.

In my shattered heart, the frostfire burned and flickered, filling me with its light and cold, flaring out of control as I started to slip into darkness. I felt the tears on my face turn to ice, and frost forming under my hands, now resting useless on the ground by my head. Slowly I let my eyes slide shut, and gave up.

I do not know how long I had been lying there when I heard footsteps approaching along the path. Who it was I didn't know either, because by now I was too weak to even open my eyes. I could only lie helpless, listening as the steps came closer and then suddenly came to a halt not far from me.

”What's this?” The unknown voice was speaking softly, but I thought it sounded smooth and even, perfectly calm. I knew it was a man's voice.

Everything was quiet for a few moments, probably while the stranger waited to see if I would move in reaction to his words, but he waited in vain. Soon he seemed to realize this as well, because his steps hit the stones again. I heard the rustle of his clothes very close to me then, and I thought he might be crouching down beside me. As cold as I was I felt the warmth of his skin even before he touched my hand, and I wanted to warn him, tell him he shouldn't, but I could speak even less than I could move. So his fingertips brushed over the back of my hand and then quickly pulled back. He even gave a sharp hiss when the ice in me burned him.

Then silence again, and I could almost feel his eyes move over me. Did he wonder if I was still alive? What would happen if he decided that I was already dead? Would he leave out here then? Overcome with the fear of this possibility I somehow found the will to let my dry, cracked lips part and let out the softest moan. At first it didn't seem like he had heard it, but then he moved over me again and when a hand touched me this time it was to rest on my back, over my ribs, protected by the layers of my clothes. He must be feeling for the flex of breathing in my ribcage.

”How are you alive?” I heard him mutter. The hand on my side moved me, slowly and gently tipping me over on my back. ”Strange little creature”, he added after getting a better look at me, and then both his hands were on me, sliding in under my shoulders and legs. This touch made me realize how big they were. Even though most hands were big to me, these felt larger than usual. The strength in the arms lifting me was also obvious and slightly alarming in my limp, helpless state. But they were gentle, even so.

Since his arms were full, I heard and felt him kick at the door with the toe of his shoe. Then it wasn't long before I heard it being unlocked and opened, those sounds followed by a surprised little noise.

”Who is that?” That voice was unfamiliar, but it belonged to a man as well. It was soft and smooth, just like the first one, but it had more warmth and depth of feeling to it and was not just calmly collected.

”I have no idea. I found him here, just outside the door. He must have been seeking help.”

”Is he...?” The new voice trailed off hesitantly.

”He is alive, although not by much. We better get him warm. Bring a lamp up to the guestroom, and I will carry him there.”

”I will. Get in here now, and let me close the door.”

The warmth from the man holding me had started seeping into my chilled body by now, and the warm air inside the house was a balm on my skin. I heard movements I couldn't name, then I heard and felt us move up a stairway, more movements, sounds, and then I was put down just as gently as I had been lifted and carried. Only this time it was a bed coming up to meet me. Hands freed me of my shoes and my jacket, and then covers were pulled over me.

Even more warmth surrounded me, started melting me, and as I calmed down, knowing I was safe, taken in, I regained a measure of control over my frost. At last in a place where I could truly rest, I let go of my senses completely and then I knew nothing but darkness, empty even of dreams.

* * *

I drifted in an out of sleep. When I was awake I was still too weak to open my eyes, but I could take in some of my surroundings even so. By the way I felt the sheets against my bare skin I knew I had been undressed while I was asleep. Had I been stronger that would likely have embarrassed me, but as it was I simply noted it and accepted it. Nothing I could think or feel could change it anyway. 

Mostly, the room around me was quiet, but I made out the faint glow of lamplight even behind my closed eyelids and sometimes I heard the faint rustle of clothes and I suspected that someone was in the room with me more often than not, but no-one ever touched me or spoke to me that I remember.

Only once I heard the sound of voices. They were not whispering, but kept low and soft. Every word was still clear to me.

”...must have been out there a long time.” It was the voice of the second man speaking, the one who had opened the door. ”Look at those sunken cheeks, his boney fingers. He has probably always been slight, by the look of him, but the boy is clearly starved. And exhausted. The shadows under his eyes are nearly gone now, but you saw the state of him.”

”I did.” The voice of the man who had first found me. It was still just as calm and almost detached. ”I wouldn't call him a boy, though. Small and slight, yes, but even this starved look aside, his features are too sharp. He is likely older than you think.”

The sound of a movement, perhaps a turn in a chair. ”Does it matter? Right now, he might as well be an infant left on our doorstep for all the fight there's in him.”

”He is not as helpless as he appears.” It was a certain statement.

”So you say, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Except for this... young man dying outside our door.”

”You saw my fingers”, the calm voice nearly cut the other off. “His hand was so cold it burned me. There was frost in his hair. And the summer may be mostly gone, but there was not even a chill in the air.”

Silence.

Hidden behind my closed eyes and still form, I wondered at this conversation. The man who had burned himself on my cold seemed unsure about me, even though he had been the one to carry me inside, while the other one seemed to be almost defending me. What reason might he have for that?

”I doubt he is a threat, Steven”, the second man murmured then, giving me a name for the man who had picked me up off the ground.

”He might not be.” The calm voice was as level as always. ”But he is more than he seems. Just... be careful?”

”I will.” Then a pause, and a long, slow sigh. ”How long will you be away this time?”

”Difficult to say. A couple of weeks, at least.”

”You be careful as well, then.”

”I will.”

There was movement and the scraping of chairs against the floor. Rustle of clothes. A few light thumps that might have been a hand against a back, reinforcing an embrace. I knew I was listening to a farewell. The door opened and closed as steps disappeared from the room, but they had only been the steps of one person. More movement and scrapes of chair legs on the floorboards told me I was not alone. The second man was still there, watching over me. Or possibly guarding me.

I was too tired and weak to ponder the difference, whether I was a patient or a prisoner, and drifted off to sleep again.

When I woke up again I felt stronger. With some effort I managed to blink my eyes open, for the first time, and let my gaze wander over this unfamiliar place. The room was small and plain, but everything in it seemed well made and well cared for. A tall wardrobe stood across the room from where my bed was standing, and I could see my clothes hanging on the door of it. They looked to have been cleaned. Beside the wardrobe stood two chairs and a small table, made of dark wood and with a blue tablecloth, stars embroidered along the border. I knew this was where the men watching over he had been sitting. The only window showed a dark gray sky, and it was impossible to tell if it was early or late in the day.

Slowly I moved my arms. They trembled slightly, but obeyed me readily enough. And they were strong enough to push me up, carefully, until I was sitting up in the soft bed. The covers fell from my chest into my lap and I noticed that the reason for undressing me had been to clean me as well. It had most likely been necessary after my four days of misery. I moved my legs just as slowly, and when they obeyed me as well I got them over the edge of the bed and moved until I could feel the floorboards under my toes. Then I carefully put more weight on my feet. My muscles were weak, stiff and very sore, but it seemed my body could take it, even though the strain made flakes of frost form under my fingertips on the sheets. I was still starved, and so thirsty my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, but the long rest had given me some strength back at least.

It took me longer than I care to remember to get my clothes on. My hair was hopelessly tangled, but I did my best to straighten it out with my fingers before I left the room. The stairs were dangerous in my current state, but I managed to get down on my feet and in one piece. On the ground floor once more I remembered that I had seen a man sitting by a fire to the left of the front door, and perhaps I could find him there again.

As luck would have it, I could. He was sitting by the fire now just as he had done then, and the glass of wine and the plate with some sliced bread and cheese on the table by his side made me think it was night falling outside, rather than a very early morning. When he saw me appear in the doorway he startled, but just slightly, and turned to stare at me. He had the dark, short hair I remembered from my look through the window, his eyes were narrow, the nose sharp and there was something heavy in the set of his jaw. But the corners of his mouth seemed to curl slightly up, even now when he was serious.

”You're awake then?” I recognized the voice as the man who had opened the door that night, which made me even more certain this was the man I had seen by the fire. As he spoke he leaned back in a more relaxed manner.

I nodded, silently.

”Do you speak?” One of the dark eyebrows arched, as if he was more amused than annoyed by my silence.

”Yes”, I said. My voice was full of rust and gravel from being so long unused, but at least I still had it.

”That makes things easier.” His eternally upturned mouth became a real smile then. ”Come and sit down by the fire.” He gestured to the chair on the other side of the table. ”There is a blanket on the chest over there. You might need it, by the look of you.”

I followed his pointing finger and walked unsteadily over to get the blanket before I sat down, nearly huddled up in the chair, unable to sit straight the way I usually did. Then I couldn't stop myself eyeing the food on the table between us, feeling my dry mouth water even at the sight of this very simple fare. 

”Hungry, I guess?” Of course, the man had noticed and his words made me look up, and nod again. ”Help yourself, then. But slowly”, he added, as he saw me eagerly reach for the plate. 

It was good advice and I did my best to follow it, chewing every mouthful thoroughly. The bread was heavy with nuts and seeds, sweet and with a perfect crust, while the cheese was soft and rich like cream. Despite my precautions my stomach still ached very soon, and I had to put the plate back on the table.

”What is your name?” The man had left me in silence while I ate, but now his curiosity won out.

”Loki”, I answered as I looked up at him again. There was no reason to lie about it.

”Mine is James Barnes”, he told me. ”Although you might have a hard time making me listen to that name. I'm mostly called Buck”, he explained with a smile, as if it was some old, private joke.

”Buck.” I repeated, and thought that it fit him better than James. More square and solid. ”I'm afraid my manners are not what they used to be”, I continued then, brought back to reality by the introduction. ”I should have started by thanking you for taking me in. Thank you.”

”There are more important things than manners when you are hungry.” Buck smiled wider then. ”But you are welcome. And welcome to stay as long as you might need.”

”Truly?” The certainty with which he said it surprised me, considering the conversation I had overheard before. ”Does your... friend agree with you in this?”

”So you remember Steven, then?” The way he tilted his head was more curious than anything.

”Not exactly”, I had to confess. ”I know he found me. And I know I... that I burned him.” The fact hit me when I said it. Long ago I had promised myself I wouldn't use my power to harm anyone, and now I still had. My swallow was strained and painful when I turned wide eyes on him. ”I swear, I never meant to do that! I was too weak to hold it back, or warn him. I would _never_ have -”

”Easy!” He held his palm up to stop me. ”No need to worry, Loki. It was nothing; not even blisters. And he knew you had no intention to harm.”

”He did?” Hopeful, yet not convinced, I tried to relax back in the chair. 

”He did. You were all but dead out there when he found you, and he could see that.” Buck hesitated there, and glanced over at the flickering fire. ”He believes you could do harm, though. Great harm.” He turned back to me, serious, and there was a question in his words that he didn't ask.

”He's not wrong”, I had to admit, answering this question without having to hear it. ”I could. But I never want to use what I have for anything but good, and I am no threat or danger, to you or him. That I can promise.”

The bluegray eyes, glinting in the firelight, studied me closely then. I didn't know what he saw in my face or my form that convinced him of the truth in my words, but there must have been something because a moment later he smiled again, gave me a nod, and took a drink from his glass.

”Well and good. Then again, you are welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

”Then again, thank you.” I returned his smile. Mine felt weak, like I had almost forgotten how it was done.

We sat silent for a while before I got up from my seat to wrap the blanket around my shoulders. I knew it wouldn't really help me feel warmer since the cold I still suffered came from the inside, but it made me somehow feel safer, sheltered. Reminded me of warm arms holding me, keeping me close. Sighing, I picked up a piece of cheese and slowly took another bite, still hungry. When I had swallowed I turned to Buck again, finding his eyes on me, but they seemed mostly curious. He remained silent, so I spoke up instead.

”Where is Steven now?” He was not the only one curious, after all.

Now it was Buck who gave a sigh. ”He is away doing what he always strives to do; save the world”, he said with a shrug, before he saw my still curious look and continued. ”He is a soldier, a man who fights to make this world a better and safer place. It takes much of his time and strength, but it's what he believes in, with all his heart.”

Since I hadn't been told to leave the rest of the food be, I took another slice of bread while I nodded. ”How do you know him, if I might ask?”

”That is no secret. I have known him my whole life”, he said, and ruffled his hand through his dark hair. ”He was born not far from here, and we played together on the moor since before I can really remember. His parents passed away when we were no more than boys”, he said, lowering his hand to run his fingertips around the base of his glass. ”My family took him in, and we grew up here, together, after that. I have always considered us brothers.”

”And you both still live here?” I pulled at the blanket, getting it up higher around my shoulders. The fire was warm, but the chill inside me would not leave.

”In a manner of speaking.” Barnes gave me a lopsided smile. ”He spends so much time out doing his good work I barely see him here anymore. And me? Well...” Shifting and turning slightly in the chair, he let me get a clearer view of the left side of him, which until now had been turned into the dark shadows in the corner. I realized that where his shoulder should have rounded under his shirt, the curve stopped short and the sleeve was empty, bundled up by his side.

”Oh”, I breathed, shocked. So this was why I had only seen him gesture with one hand this whole time.

”Not a pretty sight”, he said, as if in agreement with my reaction, and made me blush. ”I used to fight by his side, at his back, taking part in his war, but then I was injured, captured. Everyone thought me lost completely, but Steven would not give up on me, and came to rescue me even when he was told it was hopeless. I still lost the arm, of course, but he saved my life.”

”I see”, I murmured. And I did. I understood why Steven had been reluctant to leave Buck alone with me, if I would have proved to be a threat to the man he had risked everything to save before.

Then I yawned, widely, and heard Buck chuckle softly before I had even managed to open my eyes again.

”You should go back to bed, Loki.”

Blinking, I nodded. ”Could I have something to drink first?” I had to ask. The bread and cheese had filled the worst of the emptiness in my stomach, but had also made my mouth even drier.

Buck looked to be inwardly cursing himself for not thinking of offering me that sooner, and showed me to the kitchen to give me all the water I could drink. Then he followed me back to the stairs, which was a good thing since he had to help me up them. His one arm was strong around my back, and I didn't hesitate to lean on him for support.

Back in my room I barely got out of my clothes before I fell on the bed and was asleep once more.

* * *

Days passed in the same way. I slept, I ate and drank as much as I could keep down, and I slowly regained my strength. Much of my time awake I spent by the fire with Buck, listening to his tales of wars and victories, and soon felt as if I knew Steven better than I had thought it possible to know a man I had never truly met. They were never far from each other in these stories of his, and I soon learned that the man was a hero. The very real and true kind of hero fairytales can only dream of.

He was a strategist, as great leader, someone who inspired men to follow him anywhere, and who always fought beside his men, never staying behind others.

I started looking forward to meeting him, again.

The reason I spent so much time with my host was not only that I was coming to enjoy his company more with every passing day, his easy conversations and friendly jokes. Another reason was that any time I spent alone, was agony. My heart was still so very cold, shattered into sharp points that cut me and stung me and never stopped. I was bleeding out, and I did not know how to stop it. Curled up under my covers, arms around myself, I still shivered. There was no warmth great enough to thaw me all the way out anymore.

Sometimes I knew what it would take to make me warm and whole again. I knew it in my dreams, where I once more looked into deep, dark eyes, full of searing passion, where I felt hot hands on my skin again, where I was held close and heard whispers of praise and pleasure.

From these dreams I woke up hard and hurting, shocked and pained when I found that they hadn't been real. That I was all alone. Then I remembered, and I cried when the wound was torn open again, as if it was all new. But even when I did, I knew I had made the right choice, and even when he pain was sharp enough to be blinding, I couldn't regret it. What he had offered me had not been enough, and would never have been. I knew the truth of it, but my broken heart didn't care. It knew nothing but loss, and the love it refused to let go of.

In other dreams I was working side by side with him. I had his heavy shoulder by mine, his strong hands working their magic as my frail ones worked theirs, both of us reaching for the same goal. From those dreams I woke up filled with longing, and frustration of a kind that wasn't physical. They showed me what I had lost in another way than what my heart knew; my lost purpose. The thing that had driven me onto the road, away from the arms reaching for me.

My head and my heart were both mourning the loss of the same man, but for different reasons, and they both blamed each other for their loss. As long as they did, I knew I would continue to bleed. As long as they did, I would never heal. 

I did my best to hide my inner turmoil however, and instead did what I could to make myself useful in the house. With only one arm Buck still managed very well, but he was grateful when I offered to help him with any chore that needed doing. I felt that I owed him too much for taking up space in his home, eating his food and drinking his water, to not give back what I could.

That was why when Steven at last returned to the house, nearly three weeks after leaving, he found me at the kitchen table, polishing old, tarnished silver. It was work difficult to manage with the use of only one hand, and I had offered to do it even if it was tedious and turned my fingers black. I was busy cleaning the detailed pattern on a richly decorated plate when a movement in the corner of my eye made me look up, and the sight that met my eyes nearly made me drop the plate on the table.

It was not at all difficult now to understand how the hands lifting me had been so large, the arms so strong. He seemed to fill the entire room, and I knew I would not even come up to his wide shoulders if I were to stand up. As if his impressive height and build were not enough his face was the closest thing to perfection I had ever seen on a living being. Every line was strong without being heavy, balanced and proportioned exactly how it should, his blue eyes bright and clear behind long, golden lashes, and his lighter hair tidy and smooth over his head. Those blue eyes wandered over me now, taking in every detail of me, weighing and measuring me, but against what standards I didn't know. Hopefully none he himself filled.

”Loki, is it?” The voice was as I remembered it, calm and level and smooth. It fitted the collected, unreadable expression on his face.

”Yes”, I said, putting the plate down. There was still a chance I might drop it if I didn't. ”That is my name.”

”Mine is Steven Rogers. I was the one who found you on our doorstep, but I would guess that you already know that.”

”I do.” Nodding, I pushed the chair back and stood. Just as I had thought, my eyes were level with his chest and I had to tilt my head back to keep meeting his eyes, even though he was across the room. ”And I want to thank you for taking me in, even though I know I caused you harm. I never intended to, and I swear it will never happen again.”

He raised one of his large but elegant hands, studied the palm of it and then held it up for me to see. It was pale, noticeably calloused, and three fingertips were slightly pink, still looking tender and sore. ”It was no great harm”, he said with a slight shrug, his face still unreadable, ”and considering the state you were in, I won't hold it against you. Believing it will never happen again on the other hand? I will have to wait and see.”

I nodded again. I couldn't blame him for doubting me.

Then he made a gesture to my own blackened hands. ”Wash yourself, and join me by the fire. I need to get warm after my journey, and I wish to speak with you.”

”Of course.” There was no reason to refuse him. I needed his approval to stay in this house, after all. Buck had allowed me to stay while he was alone here, but I knew that if Steven wouldn't have me here I would be forced to leave. I would not be something to come between childhood friends.

When I had cleaned my hands as well as was possible I left the kitchen and found Steven standing by the fireplace. He glanced at me when I approached and motioned for me to take a seat in one of the chairs, but remained standing himself. A hand was resting on the mantle while he was half turned to watch me where I was sitting. He towered over me in a way no-one had done since I had stood in front of Odin as a boy, and something in his cool, level gaze made me feel just as small as I had felt then.

”So, you decided to stay?”

”I have nowhere to go, as it is, and Buck has been kind enough to let me stay here.” My hands were gripping each other where they rested in my lap.

”And why is there nowhere for you to go?”

”Well, there is one place I could go, but it is far away.” I hesitated. ”I could go to Starwood. It is where I grew up, and I would be welcome back.”

”Starwood?” One of his dark golden eyebrows raised. ”I have heard of it. So then you do know how to control yourself, I would guess, if they raised you there.”

”Yes, I do, and I have been in a place where I have used it for good since. But I couldn't stay there, and I can't go back.”

”Why is that?”

”I'm sorry”, I said, and my eyes fell to my painfully clasped hands, ”but I cannot tell you. It is much too painful. But none of my secrets are a threat to you.”

”So you were an innocent in whatever happened to drive you away?”

Slowly I looked up at him again, and the look in his bright blue eyes made me sure I needed to be completely honest or he would know it. ”No”, I said after a moment's thought, because it was the truth. ”I was not innocent. I had my part in it. But it was no crime, only a mistake, and my magic had nothing to do with it.”

”But whoever you lived with knew about it, obviously?”

”Yes. He asked me there because of it in the first place, and I used it to help him.”

”I see.” Rogers' face did not exactly soften at those words, but some of the tension went out of it. His eyes turned less sharp and more thoughtful, but I wasn't calmed by this. There was calculation there, I saw it, and I knew that simply determining that I was not a threat hadn't been his only goal here. ”Magic or not, I hear you have been making yourself useful here as well.”

”As best I can.”

”Good.” Even his smile was an even and measured thing, as if he was careful to not give too much of it, as if he only owned a set amount of smiles and couldn't afford to waste them. ”I still need to think on this, but you are welcome to stay, for now.”

That was really the only thing I had hoped for. Getting him to agree to more had never felt possible.

”Thank you.”

”You may go back to your chores, if you wish. I have my own to see to, after all.”

So I nodded and left, returning to the silver waiting for me in the kitchen. I was happy for the mindless task the rest of that afternoon, because my thoughts were in no order what so ever and no help at all. My attempts to match the man I had just met to the expectations Buck's stories had given me were not going well. He was indeed just as impressive as I would have thought, or even more so, but where I had thought I would meet a warm and charismatic man, someone who would pull me in, I found myself instead pulling back from his cold, hard surface.

A hero and someone living to save others should perhaps have made me feel safe, but he didn't. I was on guard, even though I couldn't say exactly why I felt I needed to be.

I wasn't blind to the obvious joy Buck felt at having his friend back, however. He had named Steven a brother rather than a friend, and when I saw the wide open love and admiration in his eyes I could believe that to be true. The warmth of his feelings even seemed to take away some of the stiffness in Steven, and earned another of those closely guarded smiles of his.

The next day when Steven came to find I wasn't as overwhelmed by him as I had been the first time, but I still felt that I needed to watch what I said and did around him in a way that was strangely new to me.

He asked me to walk with him in the small garden around the house, protected from the winds over the moor by the stone wall, and I did. At first he said nothing at all, simply led me around to the back of the house where two apple trees were carrying a rich bounty of ripening fruit. There he stopped and turned to me, so suddenly it made me flinch and back a step away from him. He said nothing to calm me, merely studied me in that calculating way he had, from head to toes.

”Show me.” When he finally spoke he crossed his arms over his chest, his cold eyes challenging me. ”Show me what you can do.”

I blinked with the surprise. ”Why?”

”I have only seen a glimpse of it, of what happens when you lose control. I wish to see what you are capable of when you will it to happen.”

That did not really answer why he wanted to see it, but I thought he wouldn't be willing to offer the answer even if I asked again, or refused. So instead of trying to understand, I slowly raised my hand between us and let the frost cover my palm, made ice gather and shape itself into a compact crystal sphere, holding it out for him to see.

”Is that all?” The demonstration that had been enough to convince Mr. Stark was obviously not enough for Steven Rogers.

”No, it is not.” I closed my fingers, curling them around the ice orb. It instantly cracked apart, shifting in my grip to turn into something pointed and sharp like a thorny vine snaking around my hand and forearm. At the same time I let my chill take to the air, making it cold enough around us that our breath turned white and Rogers started shivering while I watched him, as still as if nothing was happening.

”Apparently not”, he got out through clenched teeth.

Immediately I pulled the cold back out of the air, made the twisting ice around my arm shatter with a turn of my wrist. It fell down in the grass and moss by my feet, where it began to melt.

Steven looked at it, absently rubbing his arms with his hands to get some warmth back in his skin. ”I see”, he murmured, and I wished I knew what it was he was truly seeing. Then he turned on his heel and continued to walk.

After a moment's hesitation I followed, and again we walked in silence, slowly, until we were back by the door of the house. There he stopped, not moving to open it and go inside, and I knew something was coming then. It frightened me that I had no idea what it would be. Would he ask me to leave now, when he had seen some of what I was capable of?

”I want to save the world, Loki”, Rogers said as he suddenly turned to face me, his voice very grave. ”I want to make it a better place than I found it. And the only way I can do that, is by fighting the fights I believe to be the right ones. The good ones. The battles that will put things to right.”

How any battle could make the world a better place I didn't know, but I decided not to ask him. Instead I just listened as he continued, still frightened, still thinking that I might be the one he thought should be battled and defeated, to save the world from a monster.

”There are many willing to fight by my side in those battles, but they are not enough. And more of them fall than I would wish for, every time. We need something else, some new strength. Protection and force in one.”

Blinking, I realized that this did not sound like he was planning an attack on me, but I still had to wonder why he was telling me this. I knew nothing of war.

”I believe you could be that new strength, Loki.” He took half a step closer to me as he said it, making my head tilt all the way back to follow him.

_”Me?!”_ I felt my mouth drop open in utter disbelief at what I had just heard.

”You could be the weapon – and the shield – we need.” Steven tilted his head forward to look me straight in the eye. ”And I want you to join me out there, on the battlefield. To come with me, and change the world.”

This was something I had never expected to hear him say. It was such a completely insane suggestion I had no idea how to respond. Me, on a battlefield? Small and frail and weak, to fight by his side? The mighty hero? It must be some sort of jest. Surely? In the end I just shook my head, in disbelief more than as a real answer.

”I am neither a weapon nor a shield”, I said carefully, knowing that I of course could be both if I needed to. But I had no wish to make it my purpose, either of it. A tool I had been, for another man who wanted my help to change the world, and a tool I could be again, that I knew. This was something else entirely.

”Not at the moment”, he agreed, unperturbed. ”No, not right now. But I said that you could be. With the right guidance and training? Yes, you could be.”

”Perhaps”, I said, my doubts bleeding into my words, ”but I don't -”

One of his large hands came up, a palm out to stop me. ”I understand if you need to think on it, Loki. Trust me, I do.” He straightened. ”In three weeks I will be leaving again, to go back to the front. When I do, I hope that you will follow me there. Think on it until then, and when the day comes we can leave together.”

He spoke as if the decision was already made and me thinking on it was nothing more than some sort of formality. His wish was made, I had my orders, and he expected me to fall in line and do what was asked of me in the end, even if he was kind enough to let me adjust to this given fact.

I met his eyes, and I trembled with an entirely new sort of chill. Even though I had never known it before I was beginning to see that there were few things in this world as terrifying as a true hero.

At first I did consider Rogers' request. I truly did. I thought I owed it to him after he had saved my life and allowed me to stay in his home, and I also did it because it was a great honor to have been asked to fight side by side with him. It was, I couldn't deny that. And I also considered it since the last time I had been asked to help a man save the world and make it better I had done so, and helped him succeed. Something in me told me I should try again, that this might be my new purpose after all. And also, because I had become used to following orders.

The first of the three weeks passed while I considered, and since Steven seemed to sense that I truly was considering it, that I kept turning it over in my mind, he mostly left me to it. Buck didn't treat me any different than he ever had, and I thought that he actually knew nothing of what Steven had asked of me. And why should he even suspect something like that? He had been a soldier once, and he knew by looking at me that I was not made to be any such thing.

By the end of the week I knew that this was not the purpose I had been searching for. When I tried to picture it, it felt all wrong. War and battle was not something I knew or wished to know. I had promised to never use my magic to harm, and turning me into a weapon would forever undo that promise. Even if I was only a shield I would still be a part of an army, I would still be using my powers to help harm others.

It didn't feel right, and I knew I could never do it.

That was not the only reason, however. Inside me there was also enough self-preservation and selfishness to know that this was a sacrifice that was asked of me. It wasn't merely work or a chore, it was no simple task to perform. It would take everything I had, and leave nothing left for myself. No time, no power, no life. For this, I would have to give up everything, and that wasn't something I was prepared to do.

I also had to admit that he didn't sway me, he didn't make me believe in his cause. Mr. Stark had done that. His burning, flaring hot passion had been obvious, and it had drawn me in, made me want to be part of his dreams of a better world. Steven's cold determination frightened me more than it inspired me.

During the second week my hesitation was obvious enough that Steven would once more begin to convince me. He spent the nights in front of the fire with me and Buck, and spoke to me of the greatness he had seen, the sacrifices made for the good of the world, the protection of land and loved ones, the bonds of brotherhood between the men fighting to save everything they believed in. I listened, I took it all in, and I still considered, but nothing he said made it more possible for me to see myself in these tales. 

A battlefield was still not the place for me.

Buck never said anything to voice his agreement when Steven spoke to me. He never protested anything either, for that matter. He listened, that I could tell, even though he had probably heard it all many times before, but he was silent. Sometimes I noticed him watching me, as if judging my reaction to what I was hearing, but there was not much for him to see because these grand tales meant little to me and sparked few reactions.

Until one such night, when Steven spoke up about this need and wish for a new weapon. He never mentioned me, he had in fact said nothing to directly influence me since he had first made his request of me, but he did mention another familiar name.

“Stark doomed us all when he closed his factories”, he muttered, voice the darkest I had ever heard from him where he was standing in what seemed his usual place, leaning against the mantelpiece. As if he was too restless to sit down for long, not used to comfort. “His rifles have won more battles than I can take the time to name, and his armours have kept my men safe. Now, there is no new equipment coming. We are all but helpless and defenseless.”

From the moment I heard Mr. Stark's name it felt like my heart stopped beating. I couldn't breathe, and the world was grinding to a halt around me. So many days and hopeless nights I had spent trying not to think about him, and here he was, suddenly, as close as if he had stepped into the room, summoned by a passing mention.

I tried to swallow it all down, keep still, hide both my shock and the sudden anger flickering in me.

Trust this _soldier_ to speak like that about a man who would have no more war and death! To colour his voice with contempt when saying his name. In my memories I could see the pained lines on Mr. Stark's face when I had called him the Merchant of Death, when he had spoken of the legacy he had turned his back on, the hate he had received because of this choice.

Then the anger slipped from me as suddenly as it had come. I felt myself sag in my chair, even heavier than I had been. Why did I feel the need to defend him?

When I tried to collect myself and listen to the story Steven was still telling, completely oblivious to my reactions to his words, I noticed that someone else was not so blind to what was happening in my conflicted heart. Buck was watching me, eyes narrow and lips thin. I turned my head away to study Steven, pretending I hadn't noticed.

I was not able to fool him, however, and when Steven retired to his room and left us alone by the embers of the fire, Buck turned to me. The intent on his face frightened me, and I wished I could have fled. But where would I have fled to?

“Stark was the man you worked for, wasn't he?” He was leaning closer to me, supported on his elbow against the armrest of the chair. “Who you ran from when you came here?”

There was no use denying it, I could see that in the determined set of his strong jaw. So I merely nodded, mutely.

“Loki.” His voice was suddenly softer, and it made me look straight back at his face. “If you ran because he mistreated you, I -”

“No!” I sat upright with a swift movement, shocked by his words as well as my own raised voice. “No”, I repeated, quieter, “he did not. He is not...” I trailed off, no longer sure what I wanted to say. “He never would.”

Buck did not seem conviced, but what more could I say? The picture Steven's words had painted of their opinion of Mr. Stark had been clear, and how would I be able to explain that he was no evil man, not run by greed or wishing misery upon humanity? How could I tell them that the one they saw as the cause of so many needless deaths, I saw as one driven by passion and a will to do better, to set things right?

How could I tell them that I loved him?

As it turned out, Buck asked for no more explanations, because his thoughts had turned to something new.

“He has asked you to join him in the field, has he not?” A hint of bitterness showed through in his tone now, and I knew that 'he' did not mean Mr. Stark anymore. I sensed a trace of envy in it, too.

I swallowed. “Yes.” It was almost a whisper.

With a little chuckle, one which sounded almost pained, he leaned back in his chair again, his eyes going to the fireplace. I saw his hand slip across his body, as if searching for the arm no longer there, and I thought I knew what he was thinking without hearing the words.

“I should have known that he would.” The tone was less sharp this time. Then he turned back, and I was surprised by the smile there. “But it would seem that he is still waiting for your answer?”

Another mute nod was all I could manage.

“Wise”, he said, standing to leave, but stopping to place his hand on my shoulder and give me a long look. “Think on it well, Loki. Very well. You only get the choice once.” And then he turned and left, giving me no hint as to what he thought my choice should be.

But in truth, my choice was already made. I knew I couldn't say yes, but I found myself unable to tell Steven no.

It seemed refusing Mr. Stark had drained my resolve, cracked my conviction, and where I had once been steel I was now brittle rust, ready to crumble at any moment.

Rogers often took me out for long walks over the moor during the end of that second week, through the heather. Mostly he took the chance to speak to me then as well, but often he also asked me questions about myself, my past, and some things he got me to reveal. That I had grown up an orphan, just like he had himself in some ways, and that I had no family now. That I had helped someone who wanted to improve the world before, but that I had left suddenly and painfully and couldn't go back. Other than that, I guarded my secrets, without even being certain why it felt like I still had to. Buck knew them now, after all, and a part of me had been certain he would pass the knowledge on to Steven.

I still felt small under his cold gaze. I felt helpless in front of him. Soft and brittle and uncertain. And I am sure that he knew that, very well. 

Just as he must have noticed the way my eyes tended to linger on his face and shape whenever he was close. Which was most of the time these days. He was in every and any way everything I was not, and I was drawn to the undeniable beauty of him. He had the formidable and coldly untouchable beauty of a star in the sky, something I had to admire even when he himself couldn't inspire my heart.

One sunny afternoon, when I had heard so much of war and glory that I dreamed about it at night, he took me for another walk over the moor. He was unusually quiet while we wandered, but when we reached a warm, southern slope he came to a halt and turned to me. There was something in his face I could not make sense of, some version of his usual calculated gaze I had never seen before. 

”I need you, Loki”, he said, short and simple, but with a note in the calm voice that made it mean much more than the words. ”Do you believe it when I say that?”

He was above me on the slope and even taller than usual because of it. I blinked up at him, my head back, trying to understand what he was really saying. He was the second man to claim that he needed me, but I somehow believed him even less than I had believed Mr. Stark when he had said the same. Mr. Stark had wanted to have me, perhaps even possess me, but that is not need. Steven wanted to use me, bat that is not the same as true need either.

”I'm not sure that I do”, I said now.

”What can I say to prove it to you?” Rogers took a small step down to stand right in front of me. 

To that I could just shake my head, because I had no answer. By now I thought that he had said anything and everything he could, and nothing had swayed me.

”I need to show you then, perhaps?”

Before I could say anything to that, before I could really make sense of the words at all, he was even closer to me. Surprise made me lean back, and I nearly lost my balance before his hands caught me and held me steady.

It was almost overwhelming to have him this near, his hands around the small of my back and holding me. He was leaning in to reach, of course, and his face was right by mine, his soft breath on my lips. It was the closest we had been since he had carried me into the house, and I suddenly remembered the feeling of his warmth seeping into my cold body. I could feel it again now, where his palms were resting against me. But even when I felt the heat rising inside of me in a response to the warmth and the closeness, the wish for more, I knew that he was doing this for all the wrong reasons. While I could never deny being drawn to the perfection of him, I knew there was nothing in me that truly appealed to him. So when his fingers then combed into my hair to bring my head even closer, it wasn't to be close to what his heart needed. When his lips brushed the corner of my mouth, though never turning into a real kiss, it wasn't because his flesh wanted mine. All he craved was what use I could be, and he would do whatever he could to tie me to him.

He might feel that he needed me, but I knew it wasn't in this way.

I was no better myself, however. Even though I knew perfectly well why he was doing this I still opened my arms to welcome him and curled them around the back of his neck, unable to resist it. Because my flesh did crave his, even though my heart did not. My skin was hungry for the warmth his offered, and it cared nothing about the reasons why it was given.

Holding me in his arms he was still gentle, as he had been when he had first picked me up off his doorstep, and he really had no other choice to avoid hurting me. He was so tall, so wide and heavy. When he gazed down at my face I felt like I was a miniscule nothing in front of him. Strangely, feeling small had been a comfort with Stark, because it had meant I would not be a burden or a weight on him. For Steven, I knew in my heart that no matter how small I was, I would still be a burden, a chore, a responsibility, something to work and shape into what suited his purpose. Now I didn't feel light, not even when his hands gripped me firmly enough that he could literally sweep me off my feet and place me on the ground. I merely felt helpless.

Somehow, nothing about it all felt real to me. Not even when he moved to lie beside me, facing me, and then pulled me closer until I was flush against his chest, my legs over his hip and thigh. The heather was dry and warm under me, protecting me from the hard, cold ground, and it grew high enough around us to keep the wind out. 

Leaning in over me on an elbow Steven was so close and yet so far away, something from a different world. The blue, clear sky behind him had the same color as his eyes. Still, the sight left the deeper parts of me strangely unmoved. My eyes were delighted, of course. My heart wished for something else, something darker and heavier. It cared nothing for perfection, after all. It knew only fire, and here it found none.

His hands woke me up again, at least in part, his touch too real to ignore. 

Oddly passive, I let one of the large hands find its way in under my shirt and waistcoat while its twin held me close. His skin on mine was real, I knew that, but I was still not truly taking part in what was happening. And somehow, neither was he. He wanted to show that I was needed, yet even as his fingertips mapped my skin and ribs and flesh, I knew that he was not all there. I was just as unreal to him as he seemed to me. 

His hand moved down over my abdomen, fingers opening my pants, and I closed my eyes as I let my head fall back over his arm resting under me.

The firm, heavy muscle of his arm held me to his chest and there was nowhere to escape when his mouth came to find my ear, hidden under my hair, tangled by wind and his touch. ”Please, Loki”, he murmured, his voice heated despite the soft way he spoke. ”Join me. Help me. By my side, you could be so much more!” His hand found me then, closing around the length of me. The long, strong fingers covered me entirely and the way they moved made me gasp and arch off the ground, but his words never faltered. ”Everything you are could be worth more. I could help you. Teach you.”

I had already known that this was where his true passion was, and that he would attempt to use this moment to convince me was no surprise, when he had me close, open, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Of course this was when he would reach for my will, to make it crumble under his.

His breath was hot against my skin just like his body even under the layers of clothing, shifting against me. All of it was driving me to distraction, but his voice wouldn't let me drift away. ”You were meant to come my way, Loki”, he continued. ”You were meant to fight by my side. I know it. You must know it as well.”

Truly, I knew no such thing, but I didn't have the words to tell him. All I knew was the hand stroking me, rendering me even more helpless than I already had been. My hands came up to grip his arm, but not to stop him, only to have something tangible to cling on to. Perhaps I should have reached out in an attempt to give back some of what he gave me, but I didn't dare. The certainty that my searching hand would find nothing but the soft evidence of his lacking interest held me back. I already knew that he didn't truly want me, but the proof would still hurt more.

”Tell me you will join me.” His voice nearly burned me now, the voice that had never been anything but calm and cool and collected before. ”Tell me you will come with me when I leave. Please!”

The intensity in his words moved me, I could not deny that. But even now, as I bit back a shout of lost control, shuddering, falling to pieces in his arms, I still shook my head.

_No..._

I still did not believe him.

When I had the strength to open my eyes he was still looking down at me, and the distance in his clear eyes had nothing in common with the heat his words had held a few moments ago.

”I need you”, he repeated, still holding on to me. ”By my side.”

That I knew beyond a doubt to be a lie. Whatever were to happen if I followed him, my place would not be by his side. I would be the weapon or shield he wielded, and I would be expected to fall into line behind him when I was not. A soldier among others.

But I could not say it to his face. I didn't dare.

For a while we stayed like that, silently regarding each other. Then he sighed, slowly took his hands off me and pulled them back so he could get back on his feet. I sat up, lightheaded, and quickly got my clothes in order as best I could so I could stand and follow when he turned and started walking back towards Strife's End, very silent and distant.

When we returned it was dusk, and I wished him a good night, offered only a curt nod in return, before I retreated to the safety of my room. There I undressed, cleaned my strained clothes, and went to bed. Alone under my covers I was soon shivering around my bleeding heart, the way I did every night. Steven's touch had done nothing to heal me, and I was not surprised, because I had never expected it to.

* * *

_**...Loki!...** _

I woke with a sudden and painful start, finding myself sitting upright in bed. My heart was beating itself senseless in my chest as I stared into the empty room, seeing nothing, but with the feeling I should have seen something. Because someone had called my name. I was sure of it.

No, not _someone_. I would have known that voice anywhere. Even when it was as filled with pain, fear and despair as it had been now. Because even through all of that, it had called my name. Reached for me in darkness. And because even now, when I heard him calling, my heart knew no other choice but to answer.

”I'm coming”, I mumbled as I threw my covers back. ”Please, wait for me. I'm coming!”

That was when my bare feet hit the cold floorboards, and I was really, truly woken up. Hissing with the shock of reality I pulled my legs back up on the bed, and asked myself what I had been thinking. Knees to my chest I curled my arms around my legs and stared out into darkness. The man who had broken my heart had called for me in a dream, and I had been more than ready to get up and go to him, unhesitatingly. Why?

First of all, it hadn't felt like a dream. At least not the usual kind. It had been so real and close I could still feel it. Everything had been dark, there had been pain, more pain than I myself had ever suffered in my life, and I knew there had been fire, even though I had seen nothing of it. I had felt the heat, the burns, and thought I could still smell the smoke of it on my skin. And the voice calling my name was still ringing in my ears.

No, it had been no mere dream. I was as sure of it as I had ever been of anything.

But still, could I really leave this place and go to him, now? After everything that had happened between us?

Oh, how small and useless it all seemed to me now, when I thought about what might be stopping me from going back. It had been important enough for me to leave, and I knew it still was. The life he had offered me would never have been enough, and that was still true. But deep inside the frozen, shattered, broken part of me I knew it made no difference, what so ever.

Maybe I could never share my life with him. Maybe he could never be mine. Maybe he already had a wife.

None of it mattered. None of it changed the fact that I was already his, and always would be. I had wanted to forget it, to push the love I still carried with me away, but one call in the dark and I was once more drowning in it. It had never left. It had never even diminished. Feeling hands on my body that were not guided by love had made me see the difference, and I knew he had truly loved me as well, at least once.

”I'm coming”, I whispered again, and I knew it was a promise I would have to keep. Even if it was a promise I only made to myself.

* * *

Despite my promise it took me most of the following day to gather my courage to confront Steven. He was leaving in two days, and he was expecting me to agree to join him when he did. Even though I had said nothing to indicate that I was considering it anymore, on the contrary, I knew that he would never have given up. He was not the kind that did.

I stayed away from him until the late afternoon when I knew I could wait no longer, when I knew I had to tell him no.

I found him by the fire. For once he was alone, which was a relief. I preferred to do this alone with him; it would be difficult enough as it was.

Stopping just inside the doorway I waited until his eyes were on me before I spoke. ”I need to speak with you.”

The small glint in his eyes betrayed him. He was so sure this was the moment when I would at least yield and give him what he wanted. ”Then speak.” He stood from his chair and came to stand in front of me, and when I remained hesitant and silent, he moved to hold me. ”Have you come to tell me your decision, Loki? Have you decided to come with me, at last?”

Rogers' large, steady hands were holding my upper arms as I looked up into his face. The perfect lines of it, the light coloration, it was very different from the face I had seen the last time I had stood like this, the last time I had spoken to Mr. Stark. And these intense blue eyes were so different from the brown ones I remembered. Those had been just as intense, but they had held heat and fire and passion, and now I dared to think that some of that passion had been for me. Here, all I could see was a cool, measured calculation of my worth and my use.

Mr. Stark had never hesitated to openly call me his tool, but he had cared for me and treasured me. Not only for the use I was, but for the person I was. Why else would he have wished for me to be myself, when he could have wished for me to remain his tool and nothing else?

Rogers ignored all the things I was, seeing only my use, while speaking of his need for me, though I knew that in truth, _I_ meant nothing. Even if I were to give him everything I had, bleed myself dry for what he believed in, it would never be enough. He would never thank me, but simply demand more of the same, just as he demanded it of himself.

In my heart, I knew I could never give him what he wanted, because there would never come a point where he was satisfied. There would only come a point where I was spent, empty, broken and used up.

”No”, I said, finally finding the courage to speak the word. ”No, I cannot come with you. Your work is admirable, and you are a great man, but I am not. I am small and I am selfish. Nothing to take pride in, I admit it, but there it still is.”

He did not even protest my words; he knew them to be true after all. ”You could rise above it, Loki.” The large hands gripped me slightly firmer. ”You could be more than small and selfish.”

”Perhaps I could, but I will not.” Meeting his now narrow, searching eyes I felt a certainty build in my heart, and I knew he would never be able to break it. I was steel, once more. ”What you wish of me is not in my nature, and every day I spent by your side would be a crime against it. It would kill me.”

What I saw in his face then told me everything I would have needed to steele myself, if I had not already been convinced. Because he already knew this, of course. He knew it would be the death of me. He simply did not care. What I could give him and the world was worth more to him than my life.

To me it was not, and would never be.

”What can I say to change your mind, Loki?” But even as he asked he was already starting to straighten up, to pull away from me.

”Nothing.” I still held his eyes as he let go of my arms and took half a step back. ”I am sorry, but I was never meant for this.” Part of me truly was sorry. Fighting with him for the greater good would have been an honorable life, and an equally honorable death. We could have done great, glorious things. But I knew I was right; it was not what I was meant for. And I would not do it.

I would not, could not, sacrifice myself that way.

”I don't believe that”, he said, his mouth setting itself in a thin, sharp line.

”I know.” There were no more words I could offer him as excuse or explanation. His belief changed nothing of what I already knew.

For a few, long moments he regarded me, his gaze growing colder with every passing heartbeat. When he at last spoke, his words did not surprise me. ”You are thinking of going back there, are you not? To him? The man you left before you came here?”

”Yes”, I said simply. There was no reason to lie.

”Do you truly believe that you can make a difference by his side? The way you could by mine?” There was a bitter note in his voice.

”I do.” I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders and decided to speak from my heart. ”But even if I did not, I would still go to him now.”

Steven frowned, pulling his head back in confusion. ”Why?”

My eyes left his for the first time, going to the dusk falling outside. A whole day had passed when I had not gone to him, and I knew that tomorrow I had to leave. Absolutely had to.

”Because he called for me”, I said, knowing the words would mean nothing to Steven, ”and I must answer.”

* * *

It was so early it was still dark outside when I came down the stairs the next morning, dressed and ready to once more leave a house unseen. But my plans were foiled this time, because in a chair by the foot of the stairs Buck was sitting, and he had obviously been waiting for me. Swallowing, tensing up, I stopped three steps from the floor.

”Please”, I murmured. ”Don't ask me to stay, to go with him. I am grateful for everything you both have done for me, but please don't.”

He raised his only hand in a calming gesture. ”You misunderstand, Loki.” He got up from the chair and met my eyes, his mouth as always with a gentle, upwards curve at the corners. ”I didn't wait here to stop you, but to wish you luck on your journey.”

”What?” Blinking, I stood still and hesitating for a few moments, then I stepped down to stand in front of him. ”Why?”

”Because you made the right choice”, Buck answered, and put his hand on my shoulder. ”I followed him into battle and even though it ended badly, I do not regret it, because it was what I could do for the world, to make it better. It was all I had to offer, and I am proud to have made that sacrifice.” His hand held me tighter. ”You have more to offer than I ever had, and you should put it to better use than to perish on a battlefield. I would never advice you to follow him to that, simply because I wish I could do so myself, once more.”

I couldn't even find any words to thank him. I just caught his arm with my own hand, holding on for a while. 

”Steven is a great man, but he only knows one kind of value, and he attempts to fit everyone and everything into that same mold”, Buck continued. ”For some it works, some bend until they fit, while others break.”

”As I would?” The small flare of bitterness was impossible to keep out of the words. Even if I had never wanted to fit that mold, the reminder that I never could still stung.

”No, Loki. You wouldn't break. Or bend.” Now he smiled at me, and I felt the bitter sting fade. ”You are far too strong for any of it. But”, he added as he let me go and turned to pick up a bag from the floor by his chair, ”you are also a fool, to leave so unprepared. Again. Here.”

I looked down into the bag and saw food, water, and a blanket, then I faced him again, only to find his hand reached out to me, filled with coins. They were not big, but many. A lot more than the sum I had brought from Ironthorn Hall.

”Buck”, I whispered, ”I cannot take this.”

”Of course you can. You have worked hard to help me here since you came, so I will call it your salary. And do not try to refuse! I warn you.” His scowl was not completely sincere, but I knew that he meant what he said, none the less.

”Thank you”, I said instead, accepting the coins and slipping them into a pocket. ”For everything.”

”You are welcome. And should you need it, you are welcome back here, any time. As my guest.” He smiled, and then his arm came back to pull me into a rough embrace which I just barely had the chance to return before he let go of me. ”Now go, before he wakes.”

I gave him a nod, a frail smile, and then unlocked the door to go out into the garden and the gray, pre-dawn light, beginning my journey.


	8. Once Was Blind

I found Ironthorn Hall burnt and empty when I arrived, and the frozen, shattered remains of my heart cut at me even sharper when I saw it.

In the middle of the perfect garden, still green and colourful with late summer blossoms, the house looked so strange with the gray stones blackened, dark windows cracked and broken, the ivy singed and dry from the heat of the flames. The smell of smoke and destruction was still thick in the air, even though I could tell that this disaster was not as recent as the dream that had called me here. Whatever had happened here, it had happened weeks ago. I stared up at the building looming over me, and wondered how it was possible that I had only been away from here for a month and a half. How could everything have fallen apart so quickly? And where were the people who had lived here? Did they still live? My heart twisted in sharp pain, and I turned away from the house to hurry back to the village.

The money I had recieved from Buck had taken me there quickly and easily, and I still had enough left to travel on. But first I needed to find out where I should go, where I should begin the search for someone I did not even know for certain could still be found. Or would welcome me back, if so.

By the village square was a small tavern, and that was where I went now. It was the most likely place for gossip to end up, and for me to find answers. The woman behind the well-scrubbed counter eyed me when I asked about Ironthorn Hall, but then her eyebrows rose as she obviously recognized me.

”You are the one who came to live there, aren't you?” She placed her hands on the wooden surface between us and leaned forward on it, as if to get a better look at me. ”The one who they say came to work with Mr. Stark?”

”I am.” Meeting her curious gaze, I continued. ”I have been away, however, and now I return to find the house in ruins, and everyone gone.”

She straightened up and slowly shook her head. ”If you came to find out what happened, I'm afraid I cannot be of much help to you, young man. No-one around here knows much more than that the house caught fire about a month ago, two people were killed as far as they tell me, but we know nothing of what caused it all. Mr. Stark has always been a secretive man, as I would guess you know?” She waited for me to nod my agreement. ”And even when everything fell apart around him, he preferred to refuse help over letting anyone into his home.”

Her words made me cold and terrified. ”Does he live? Can you tell me that, at least?”

”As far as I know, he does”, the woman said, nodding. ”Perhaps he wishes that he didn't, though. I heard that the fire ruined him, even worse than it did the house. But they say he left, together with a servant, and that he is hidden away in the old hunter's cottage in the forest.”

A cottage in the forest? I had not even know such a place existed. But I had known that the late Mr. Stark had enjoyed hunting, so it did sound likely to be true.

”Can you tell me how to find this cottage?” My hands gripped the edge of the counter hard enough to hurt, my knuckles turning bright white.

The woman noticed, and frowned when she met my eyes again. ”It is important for you to find him, it would seem?”

”It is”, I agreed, swallowed, and made myself ask again. Beg for help. ”Please tell me, or direct me to someone who can. I need to know.”

My pained voice and face made her at last take pity on me, and she explained to me the road I had to take out of the village, back past Ironthorn Hall, into the forest. It would be a long walk, I understood that much by her directions, but there was nothing that could hold me back anymore. So I thanked her, threw the bag Buck had given me back over my shoulder, and left as quickly as I could.

I remembered the pain and despair from my dream as I walked, and my steps lengthened. It felt as if time was running out.

* * *

Painted muted colours of brown and green the small cottage was nearly invisible where it was nestled among trees and bushes, even when their leaves had started to turn red and gold, getting ready for autumn. It was difficult to imagine a place more unlike Ironthorn Hall, but this was obviously the place I had been directed to; it was by the end of the road, and beyond was only the deep wilderness of the forest. This must be it. _Had_ to be.

At first only silence greeted my tentative knock on the door. I waited, then knocked again, harder, desperation making the movements sharp and fast. This time I could hear footsteps, and then I saw someone very tall move behind the stained glass window. I heard the door being unlocked, and saw it open just enough for a narrow face to get a glimpse of me. The face was familiar under the tidy gray hair, even with the red marks left behind by fire across the left cheek. Eyes suddenly grown wide blinked down at me for a moment, before the door was pushed open all the way.

"Jarvis", I started in relieved greeting. "I have -"

My words were cut off when the old butler stepped forward and, nearly bending himself in half to reach, put his arms around me in an embrace which felt both stiff and genuinely warm. Surprised by this unexpected display of affection I remained frozen for a moment, before I got my own arms up to return it. Then he slowly untangled his long arms from me, caught my shoulders in his spindly hands and stared at me as if in disbelief.

"I never thought I would see your face again, young man." His voice was unusually hoarse, and he seemed to be blinking away tears. "And let me tell you, I am relieved to see it now. Mr. Stark has not been himself since the day you left, and now..." Jarvis shook his head slowly. "I had very nearly given up hope."

His words chilled me to the core. "Tell me, is he...?" I swallowed. "How is he?"

"Not well, Loki." Jarvis' mouth turned into a thin line. "Not well at all, I'm afraid." He stepped out of the way and gestured for me to come inside. "I will tell you everything, my boy. Follow me, I have tea waiting in the kitchen."

Part of me wished to tell him to take me to see Mr. Stark immediately; that part mostly being my aching, worried heart. However I made myself follow Jarvis into the small kitchen, where the familiar scent of his tea actually helped calm me down somewhat, and I managed to settle by the worn table in a corner where he added another cup to his own, and poured for us both. The story he told me when he had taken his seat was unsettling enough that I forgot all about that cup, and the tea was left to grow cold while Jarvis spoke, telling me everything that had happened since I had left Ironthorn Hall, sneaking out like a thief in the night.

First of all, Mr. Stark had said nothing about my disappearance, to anyone. When asked about my absence he had simply told them that I had left, and refused to mention it with another word. He had brushed any concern away, even when it had been obvious that he was deeply upset, and instead returned to entertain the guests. Jarvis had fully expected him to send the visitors away, but instead Mr. Stark had made it obvious that he did indeed intend to marry Miss Romanoff. (Exactly as I had asked him to do – which Jarvis of course knew nothing about.)

Even when he had been drinking himself to sleep at night, leaving Jarvis to secretly and quietly clean up the messes he left so no-on would know of the master's distress, he stubbornly kept his guests in the house. And for a few days, the visit had seemed to be resulting in the expected betrothal.

But the wine was sometimes not enough to make Mr. Stark rest, and he soon took to wandering the dark rooms and halls at night, restlessness driving him from his bed. On one of those nightly walks, he had passed the hidden door under the stairs, the one leading to his windowless workroom under the house, and found it ajar. Since he still carried the only key, he had been shocked – until he had discovered that he actually did not carry the key anymore. It was sitting in the opened lock, and he realized that someone must have stolen it from his pocket. Someone who had been able to get close enough to his person to do it, and had somehow alos managed to find out the code securing the second lock on the door.

Already guessing what he would find, he had descended the spiral stairway to find the lamps lit, and Miss Romanoff going through the papers in the old study. Confronted, she had at first tried to excuse her actions, explain the whole thing away as a mistake. When she had realized that Mr. Stark would not be fooled, she had attacked him with a small dagger she had kept hidden in the long sleeve of her dress.

Shocked and surprised he had not been able to hold her off completely, and the blade had cut his arm. At least it had only been a minor injury, and he had managed to tear the weapon from her after that, but despite what he might have thought she would not give up so easily, and she was not rendered helpless without her dagger. She had fought him and fought hard, evidently intent upon stealing the plans for the Arc that she had found. Because, of course, that had been her goal all this time. She had made sure Mr. Stark had found her lost in the forest, made sure he would invite her back to the house, made sure she would encourage him to let her stay, so that she could get to all his secrets.

No wonder she had treated me the way she had! It was obvious to me now that I had been in her way, close to Mr. Stark and close to his work, and she had wanted me gone. Needed me gone, desperately, to do what she wanted. And I had played right into her hands. 

Mr. Stark had begged me not to leave him, and I still had. 

Caught in the fight with Natasha Romanoff, Mr. Stark had never noticed that someone had joined them in the room until he had been restrained from behind, held back. When he had turned his head to find that it was Barton, everything had become clear. As it became to me, listening to the story. Because who had asked Mr. Stark out to hunt on the day they had found the woman lost in the woods? Who was it I had seen speaking to her behind the stables? Who would know enough of Mr. Stark's habit and workplace to at least give some clues away to someone searching for secrets? Who could have been around long enough to use his sharp eyesight to find out the code to the door?

He had been betrayed from within his own household.

”I should have told him”, I whispered, hiding my face in my hands, after I had added the meeting I had witnessed to Jarvis' story. The meeting I had never told anyone about before. ”It might have saved him.”

”You couldn't have known, Loki.” Long, warm fingers moved over my hair, and I looked up to meet his gentle yes. ”You were far from the only one fooled. We lived with the man for years, and knew nothing of where his true loyalties lay, after all.”

I nodded, although still wrecked by guilt, and asked him to go on.

Mr. Stark had found the strength to fight both the spies off long enough to get back out into the workroom, hoping to get out and find help. He hadn't been allowed to get that far before the woman had been on him again, trying to bring him down before he could get out. Driven by fear and rage he had gotten his hands on her, hands I knew the power of, and thrown her away from himself in desperation. Thrown her into the glass sphere of the Arc.

The Arc had exploded into flames and debris. If the movement of throwing the woman away had not made Mr. Stark fall to the floor, he would have been torn apart. As it was his face was injured by the fire and the strange, otherworldly energy hidden in the machinery he had created. He was burned badly, and his eyes blinded.

Natasha Romanoff was killed, and so was Clint Barton, most likely instantly. Barely any remains had been found when the blue fire had consumed them.

Alone and blind, bleeding and hurting, Mr. Stark had somehow been able to escape the fire and crawl up the stairs, where he had been found by Jarvis. The explosion had of course woken the house up, and with the help of his butler Mr. Stark had been rescued from the fire, which was quickly spreading past any control.

The three women who had posed as Miss Romanoff's mother and sisters had of course been no such thing. No wonder they had looked nothing alike! They had been taken away, and Jarvis knew nothing of what had happened to them. I could not claim to care. They had helped this lie along, and I hoped they would pay for their crimes.

Jarvis had made sure his master's injuries were tended to, but beyond that Mr. Stark had indeed refused any help, just as the woman in the tavern had told me. He had insisted to be taken here, to simply hide away, and of course Jarvis had done what was asked of him, and stayed to care for his master as well as he could.

"His injuries were not life-threatening, although life-changing”, he finished his gruesome tale. ”In fact, they are healing well. Better than my own." Jarvis made a small gesture to his own face, where the red burns indeed looked angry and swollen still. "It is the state of his mind and soul that worry me. In many ways, he seemed lessened already when you left. Then this betrayal, and the loss of his sight..." He gave a sorrowful shake of his gray head. "It has all proved too much for him to bear. I have done what I can, but that is precious little I'm afraid."

I reached out and put my hand over his. "I am certain you have done him more good than you think, Jarvis."

At first he seemed at a loss, then he gave me a small smile and added his other hand on top of mine. "Thank you, young man. I have little doubt that you will do him even more good, however, in ways no-one else could." 

Those words more than anything he had said before made me suspect that Jarvis knew everything he needed to know about my relationship with Mr. Stark, and the nature of it. To my amazement, he in no way seemed to mind. I was quite sure I was blushing, but he did not comment on it if I was. He just turned his head to nod at a tray on the counter across the room. 

"It is nearly time to bring him his lunch, so he should be awake now."

"Could I be the one to bring it to him?" The idea came to me suddenly, and was out of my mouth before I could think it through.

I thought Jarvis would protest it, but he merely nodded. "Of course, Loki. I will get everything in order and show you to his chambers."

And he did. He poured a creamy, smooth soup into a bowl Mr. Stark would be able to drink from, sparing him the use of a spoon, and put bread and cheese on the side, along with a glass of wine. I offered to carry the tray and he smiled warmly at me before showing me the way to the master's room, leaving me outside the door with a gentle pat on my back. When he was gone I pulled a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever waited for me on the other side. I balanced the tray on one hand and knocked softly on the foor before I pushed it open so I could walk inside. I found the room dark, lit by a single lamp on a table just inside the door, all curtains pulled closed in front of the small windows. A fire burned in the simple fireplace, and a familiar although unusually hunched over figure was sitting in an armchair in front of it.

I put the tray down on the table and the small, rattling noise made Mr. Stark turn his head. The light fell on his features then, letting me see the unkept scruff of beard that had replaced his neat goatee, and the damage Jarvis had spoken of. It was clear that the old man had been right about the state of his master's injuries; they were indeed healing well. That did not make the scarring over his forehead, cheekbones and eyelids any less heartbreaking, of course. Or the way the burns had closed his dark, beautiful eyes forever.

"I told you to stop bringing me food, Jarvis." His voice nearly brought tears to my own eyes. Despite the way the fire had ruined his face, I had still known it, and would have known it anywhere. But his voice was a dead, numb thing on his tongue, and spoke more of the sorry state of him than his scars ever could. "I am not hungry. Ever. And the smell sickens me. Take it away."

Seeing and hearing him this way made me more aware than ever of the love I still held for him. The pain I felt seeing his injuries and hearing his defeated heart on his words, it went far beyond simple pity. He was meant for something greater than this, and I wanted to set things to right. I had to, because I felt I carried at least part of the responsibility for what had happened, what had reduced him to this.

"A few bites would do you good, sir." I kept my words steady and soft, even though it took some effort.

"I wish you would listen to -” As he slowly realized that he had heard something other than what he had expected to, his reply cut itself off. With a frown pulling at his scarred eyebrows, he turned more in my direction. "I know that voice..." Then, suddenly, there was a bitter twist to his lips. "So, the day has finally come when I can no longer tell dream from reality. I had suspected it would not be long. A pitiful end, no doubt." A sigh smoothed his face again. "And yet, if I will be allowed to hear that sweet voice again, I will gladly meet it."

"Why are you so certain it is an end, sir, and not a beginning?" I kept speaking softly, and made myself be calm and still.

"The beginning of my end, perhaps. That is really all I can hope for." He leaned back in the armchair and let his head roll back to face the fire he could only feel and hear.

I walked closer, letting him hear my footfalls. The sound just made him tilt his head to the side this time, without turning it. He actually did not believe I was really there. I realized this as I stopped by his right arm, and he still did not turn his face toward me.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow your end to come, sir. Not now, when I have just found you."

His hands, shaking slightly, came up to cover his face and made his words muffled. "You have come to torment me then? Have I not paid enough for the wrongs I did you? Please... Leave me in peace."

Swallowing, I shook my head, even though I knew he couldn't see me do it. ”I never wanted for you to pay at all, sir”, I murmured, and I knew it was the truth and nothing else.

Yes, he had been unable to offer me what I wanted and needed. Had been unable to even comprehend what I needed. And it had broken my heart. But to be fair, I myself had not truly known what I had needed. I had known that what was offered was not enough, but I had not had the understanding and the words to know and ask for what I really wanted.

He had called me his treasure, and he had thought me something frail in need of protection from the things he himself feared. While all I would have wished for was to stand by his side and shield him from those fears, as well as I was able. And that would never have broken me; for him, I would have fought until the end. But he had turned from me, to seek comfort where he thought he should, and that had torn me apart.

He had never wished to hurt me, I knew that. And the hurt he had caused me none the less he had thought his generosity and grand gestures enough to eradicate, when in truth that had never been possible.

”But I did wrong you”, he said hoarsely, still into his trembling hands. ”I should have been honest with you, should have never toyed with you to see if you truly cared. But yes, I have paid. My lies have come back to me sevenfold, at least.”

So, he had done what he had to see if I would be envious? Jealous even, perhaps? Yes, I could see it now, how he had said and done some things only to be able to judge my reactions to them. Then, I had never thought twice about it, since I had been so used to that kind of behaviour from him, constantly challenging me and prodding me to get a reaction out of me. Now I understood, and the picture the words painted was not pretty.

None of it was pretty. He had been a fool and a coward, greedy and vain. But he had also loved me, I had been certain of that since I'd had something to compare his affection to. And he had paid. I had never wished him to pay, but he had, and I thought that at least he had become wiser for it. Even though it had cost him dearly, at least he was humbled, and perhaps, this time, he would be braver.

Either way, I knew I had already forgiven him. In his flaws and his mistakes he had been nothing more than human, and I could never hold that against him.

I placed a hand on his shoulder, felt him tense and startle under the gentle touch, as if he really believed, still, that I was nothing but a voice in his mind. As if he had truly never expected a touch to come. 

He gave a dry, sharp sigh. ”And now, I cannot even go out into the world to find you.”

”I am trying to tell you that you do not have to.” I let my hand travel over his shoulder, up the side of his neck and come up to cup his cheek, moving to stand in front of him. ”I have already come to you. Can you not feel it?”

Mr. Stark turned his head into my hand, running his lips over the heel of it. ”I feel... something. But it cannot be real. Why would my Loki come to find me now?”

_My Loki._

Those had to be the sweetest words I had ever heard, and it made me more certain than ever of my answer.

”Because he loves you”, I said, letting my other hand come up to frame his face. ”And you need never doubt that.”

At first he was completely still. Then his hands, which I now saw were also marked by half-healed but still red burns, came up to touch my forearms. At first I thought he would pull my hands away, but then his fingers traveled up my arms, to my shoulders, found the bare skin of my neck above the collar of the shirt. He made a soft moan when his fingertips skimmed over it, and then reached my jawline. Softly, gently his fingers mapped my face, from ears and temples to brows, nose, lips, even the lids of my eyes. Then he let them sink down to rest on my shoulders once more.

”It is you. Truly. Here, with me...” The words broke on a sob.

”It is, sir. Here, and nowhere else.”

The large fingers, still so strong, moved around to the back of my neck, tangling into my hair. ”Then kiss me, and show me. Please!” His last word was a pained little whisper, but I heard it. Of course I heard it.

Not even bothering with a verbal response I just leaned down, felt the fingers on my neck help me along, and placed my lips on his. My hands were still framing his face, and I used them to angle his head just right, so I could get as close as I wished to be. This time it was I who let my tongue trace the seam of his lips, just as he had done the very first time, and his lips parted to let me in, just as mine had done then. He tasted so familiar, so much like home, it brought stinging tears to my eyes.

Without even breaking the kiss, he moved his hands from my neck to instead catch my waist, curling his arms around me to pull me into his lap. I followed his lead, placing my own arms around his shoulders and neck to keep me in place across his steady thighs. He held me so tight and so desperately close that it pained me, but I never asked him to let up. I understood the need, and shared it.

”I love you as well”, he mumbled against my cheek when he could at last bear to let my mouth go. ”I should have told you that a long time ago, when it could have made you stay with me.”

Combing my fingers into his hair, I sighed softly by his ear. ”That might not have been enough, sir.”

”I know”, he sighed in answer. ”I couldn't understand then what made you leave, to reject me, but I understand now. Then I thought my love reason enough to keep you, and my wealth enough to satisfy your needs, but I was wrong.”

He was starting to sound so worn and broken again, and I silenced him with a kiss on the corner of his downturned mouth.

”Leave that for now, sir. It will keep.” Carefully I removed my arms from his neck and slid out of his lap when he reluctantly let go of me as well. ”Today, all I ask of you is that you eat your lunch. Would you humour me, sir?”

The bitterly twisted mouth slowly softened and turned into a small and crooked smile. ”It used to be me who had to make you eat, Loki.”

”Yes, I remember. And now it is my turn to take care of you, sir, if you will let me.”

His little huff then was not truly a laugh, but it was close enough to warm my shattered heart. ”Very well then.”

So I brought a chair and the tray to him and helped him eat some of the food Jarvis had prepared for him, watched him drink about half of the thick soup, and pick at the bread, never touching the cheese. I gave him the wine, and he drank from that as well. Then I could see that he was tired, all his strength drained, and I helped him to the bed in the other end of the small room. I had thought he would wish to be left alone then, but when I moved to leave his hand caught mine hard enough to nearly hurt.

”Stay with me.” It was a murmur into his pillow. He was too tired to even lift his head, but he was still giving me orders rather than requests, and I was still unable to refuse.

I rubbed my thumb over his fingers. ”Of course, sir.” 

So I sat down on the bed by his head, leaning against the headboard, his hand still holding mine.

”How did you find me?” He sounded half asleep already, but still too curious to let the question wait.

I held his hand a bit tighter. ”You called for me, sir. You called my name, and I heard you in my dream.”

Mr. Stark pulled my hand to his lips and placed a light kiss on my knuckles. ”I did call for you”, he murmured against my skin. ”In the fire, and in every nightmare since. But I never dared hope you would hear me.”

Then there was only silence, my hand still by his lips until he fell asleep, and a long time after.

* * *

It took nearly three days before Mr. Stark truly came to believe that I was back by his side, even though I was there when he woke up, when he fell asleep, to feed him and dress him and speak with him, ease his worry and fear.

His mind had very nearly been broken by everything he had been through, and I understood why Jarvis had been on the verge of believing him lost forever. The thoughts and the wit that had always been so sharp had grown dull, he forgot much of what I told him those first days, I had to repeat even simple questions, and he constantly had to be reassured that I was there, that I was real, that I would not leave. Often he woke up crying, sure I had been nothing but a wishful dream, and sometimes all it took was for me to stay quiet for too long, and he would shiver and reach burn-marked hands for me, searching out my touch.

The state of him was painful to see, but I swallowed my worry because it couldn't help him. I was as calm as I could, patient, and never complained, even when he hurt me in his fervor to hold on to my frail body. A part of me needed the reasurrance and the closeness just as much as he did, after all.

On the third day, everything changed.

Mr. Stark was asleep and I was as usual sitting by his headboard, watching over him. My hand was idly combing through his hair, and then moved down to caress his forehead, searching lower over his scarred face.

It was only then, when my fingers traced the scars over Mr. Stark's eyelids and brows, that I felt the stirring of liquid, silvery magic inside of me. My breath caught in my throat as the soft tendrils reached for his skin through mine, and I struggled to hold it back, afraid to let it out. For so long I had hidden my healing magic away, kept it a complete secret, until I had nearly forgotten that it existed. As it turned out, the magic would not let itself be forgotten. It was still there, and it was apparent that it could sense when there was a need for it. Just as my frost and ice, it was guided my both my heart and my mind, and it knew what I knew, felt what I felt.

I wondered if I could do it. If I could use it now. Or would I fail and only make the damage worse? Was that possible? I knew next to nothing of healing magic, and this was not the way I wished to learn. But the silver light inside me was insistent. It knew what it wanted, even when I did not, and I realized that all I had to do was let it.

Just as I had done that time as a boy I reached out with a wish to soothe and ease, and the silver light was there in an instant. Back then it had knit the surface of my cut skin together, but this was an older injury and the light had to seep deeper into him than it had into me. I could still see it shift under his skin, could see the scars pale and smooth out under my hand. His golden skin returned to what it had been, the seared away parts of his eyebrows and eyelashes grew back as I watched, fascinated, and I could see his eyelids soften as the scarring healed away. Then the silver light came back to my hand, fading into my fingers, and I felt it settle in that deep, dark hidingplace where I had let it be forgotten for so long. Slowly I pulled my hand back, to see the result.

He had never once stirred while I touched him, or while my magic worked, but my touch being taken away made his brows knit, his body shift, and then he blinked and opened his eyes. They found my face at once, and they were just as I remembered them. Dark brown, deep and warm, and growing even warmer when they recognized me. Small wrinkles formed by them when he started to smile, and then the realization reached him and his face turned blank with shock, the dark eyes going wide as he sat up, moving slowly as if in a dream.

”Loki?” One of his hands came up to confirm what his eyes once more could see, and I saw that the skin on his hand was smooth and healed again as well. ”Am I dreaming?” His fingertips found my face, and I turned my head to kiss them, never taking my eyes off his. I never wanted to take my eyes off them again.

”No, sir”, I murmured into his palm when his fingers settled against my cheek. ”Do you believe that I am truly here now? When you can see me with your own eyes?”

Blinking, he reached out to catch me and pull me closer, completely up on the bed until I was sitting astride his kneeling legs. One of his arms was around my lower back, keeping me in place, while his other hand found its way up into my hair so he could hold my face in front of his, even turning it gently to study every detail until I blushed under his gaze.

”I believe”, he said at last, in a torn whisper. And then he kissed me. He covered my lips with his, full and sweetly hot, and he kissed my breath away. I held on to his shoulders and neck, giving him everything he wanted, taking everything he offered in return.

Because this was what I wanted as well. What I needed to thaw out. This was what I had needed to heal. The heart pressed close to mine now, beating hard against my ribs, was reaching for me just as much as the hands moving to find me, willing me closer. And my own heart was no longer a sharp tangle of shards in my ribcage. It was solid and whole, no longer cutting me bloody.

When he pulled back, he was smiling. ”But I cannot have you calling me by title anymore, Loki.”

”What should I call you then, sir?” I smiled back, holding his head in my hands, adding the title once more just for the sake of teasing him. Seeing him smile made me want to lure out more of the same, and I was not disappointed.

Mr. Stark's smile broadened. ”You little imp”, he said, chuckling slightly, and the words that had once meant nothing but hurt and hatred now only sounded like love and affection. Perhaps I truly was a little imp – but I would gladly be one if I could get him to laugh the way I remembered. ”You should call me Edward, I think, since that is my given name.”

”Then that is what I will do, Edward.” The name still felt strange on my tongue, but I knew that in time it would fit better there.

His only answer was to kiss me again. At least I thought it was the only answer, until his hands were pulling my shirt free of my pants to find my bare skin under it. I moaned into his mouth at the touch and pressed closer to his chest. His hands followed, stroking higher over my back, to my shoulder blades, then down to come around my waist and start undoing my shirt. And suddenly both of us were feverishly picking at buttons, pulling at sleeves and hems.

”I need to see you”, he mumbled into my hair when my head was bowed by the hollow of his throat, so I could see where my hands were working to undo his belt and the buttons on his pants. ”All of you.”

The heat in his voice made me shudder, and I didn't resist his strong hands when he lifted me out of his lap and and pushed me down on my back on the bed in front of him, so he was now between my legs. Reluctantly he let me go, my hands sliding over the backs of his as they pulled away, so that he could free me of my shoes and then my pants, and himself of his own. 

My shirt was still on, but unbuttoned and open. It clearly wasn't enough. With something akin to a growl in his throat he leaned in over me, one warm, powerful arm slipping in under my back and lifting me, so he could pull the shirt all the way off. Then he sat back on his heels, framed by my bent legs. His hands caressed their way up my thighs while his eyes ran all over me, tracing every line and dip and shadowed hollow, and even though I had once been so shy about beeing seen I felt I could finally give in, and let him take what he needed.

Because I understood now that he wasn't searching for flaws when his eyes drank me in like this. He never even saw the ones that were there; only I did. I was still pale and small and frail, but he didn't want me because I was perfect - I was perfect because he wanted me. And I could not look at him in return and not see that he _did_ want me. Not only because his arousal was obvious and flushed between his own thighs, but perhaps even more because of the endless dark depths of his eyes and his fallen open mouth. Those eyes wanted nothing more than to see what they found pleasing. That mouth wanted to taste it. And I wanted to be seen, tasted, touched. Wanted him to drink me in.

Then he leaned in over me, and kissed me again. First my mouth, then my cheek, my jaw, trailing soft lips down my neck, tasting my clavicles, my shoulder, drawing patterns with the tip of his tongue down my chest, and while he did his eyes never closed. Barely even blinked. Even when he again slipped his arm under me, to press his face into my soft abdomen.

"My Loki", he whispered against my skin.

Almost of their own will my hands came to settle in the thick, dark tangle of his hair, combing into it, holding on. They followed his movements when he kissed the sensitive skin just below my navel, and then brushed by the hollow of my hip, the arch of the hipbone. The flat of his tongue running over the soft inside of my thigh made me tip my head back, moaning, my hands clenching in his hair. When I could lift my head again he was still watching me, across the pale landscape of my body and the heaving of my narrow chest.

Large, warm hands caressed my thighs apart, hot breath fanned over the thin, flushed skin between them, but all I saw was the hungry look in his eyes.

"Yours", I whispered in return, broken and breathless. "Yours."

As if that word had been permission given, he tipped his head forward and tasted me. His tongue mapped out the achingly hard length of me, nearly wrapped around the curve of it in the eager wish to feel it all at once. My hands, which had just barely reached to hold his hair anymore, fell away from his head completely then, limp and weak by my sides. His hands still held on though, curling around my hip and my thigh, while he reached closer and then swallowed me down, whole, and the slick heat suddenly surrounding me had me gasping and writhing in shocked pleasure.

And still his eyes never left mine. Not once while his mouth kept tasting me, caressing me softly and so sweetly, almost cradling me on his tongue, and slowly made me come thoroughly undone.

My fingers clawed into the covers, my back arched up off the mattress, and even though I so very badly wanted to keep holding his eyes, the golden brown turning to heated black as I watched, this force was too much to resist. My neck tensed and curved back of its own will, my eyes fell shut, and a shout was ripped from my throat before even making a sound was beyond me, breathing forgotten, swept away on the rushing tide.

When I could raise my head once more, I found Edward breathing heavily, his face half hidden in the angle between my hip and thigh, eyes still locked on me as he was shuddering against my legs. And I knew then that he had spent himself on the sheets, never touched by anything but the sight of the pleasure he himself had given me.

One of his hands reached for mine on the rumpled covers, and I opened my own to welcome it.

”Yours”, he said, voice rough, and I knew he meant both his hand, and his heart.

* * *

We walked through the forest the next day, enjoying the sunlight. Edward watched everything around him, taking it all in along with the knowledge that he could, once more. I watched him in turn, saw the sunlight glow in his dark eyes, and could never get enough of the sight.

Then he turned to me, serious. ”You have given me my life back.”

”It was too valuable to waste.” I stopped and turned to face him, just as serious. ” _You_ are too valuable to waste.”

”I had thought all my work undone. _Our_ work.” His eyes drifted away from me again, and I could see him think deeply. His mind was once more becoming what I remembered it to be, alive and moving and glowing. Still not as quick and agile as it had been, but getting there, little by little. ”Now I have another chance.”

”I thought it was all destroyed?” I frowned, thinking of what Jarvis had told me. 

He turned back. ”It was. But it can all be remade. Rebuilt.” There came an almost eager smile on his face at the thought. ”I can make it even better, using what I learned building and improving the first Arc. And this time, I -” There he cut himself off, and his smile faded as he turned away again.

”What is the matter?” I took a step closer to him, worried.

Edward looked at me then, his mouth tense, thick eyebrow low. ”I would wish to rebuild it all with you. With your help and support, and your love to guide me.” His eyes fell. ”But then I would have to ask you to stay with me, and I see no reason why you would. I have nothing new to offer you.”

I knew that he was wrong. There was something he could offer me, if he was willing to do so, and I knew to ask for it now. But before I could speak up, he continued.

"You said we might never be equal." He sighed. "And now I owe you another debt I can never repay." The wide, brown eyes were shining with liquid now. "I wish you hadn't healed me, Loki, if this means I have to lose you all over again."

"You can never repay those debts”, I agreed, because I had understood the truth of that now, ”and I will always depend on you for food and shelter and everything I need. Once I thought those things could never balance each other out, that the red numbers in our ledgers would never be all gone. But I know now that those numbers make little difference.” I gave him a smile, one that came from my heart. ”Balancing the books would only make us even, not equal. The debts are not important, it's how we live our lives."

"And how would you have us live, Loki?" Edward let a hand slide up under my hair and rest over the back of my neck.

The question I could answer, at last. 

"Side by side”, I said. ”Working together, with a common goal and purpose." I reached out to take his other hand in mine. "I thought being your tool was enough, but it's not. I knew being your treasure was not enough, and it still is not. I know now that I need to be both, and something that is more than the sum of those parts."

"And what is that, my love?"

Still smiling at him I held his hand firmer, feeling his fingers entwine with my own. "Your partner."

Edward's hand never let go of mine. His fingers on my neck just pulled me closer as he leaned in and kissed me. It was sweet and slow and full of promises. "Yes", he whispered against my lips when he let them go. "That is what you should be. My partner, working by my side, saving my life, making it worthwhile." Again he kissed me, hard, demanding and generously giving all at once. "My equal, sharing everything and being part of everything."

When he pulled back again our eyes met, and I saw in the warm, dark depths I had thought lost forever that he meant every word of it. That he would stand by it, no matter who questioned it.

I looked down at our joined hands. His so large and dark, heavy and strong, mine so pale and thin and delicate, but both with their own kind of magic, their own kind of skill. Different in any way they could be, but reaching for each other and fitting together perfectly none the less.

I was his as he was mine. At last. And hopefully forever.


	9. Epilogue

And that should be where I leave you. It should. No matter the loose ends and the questions. The nature of human life is that we are never allowed to see anything through to the very end - not even our own lives. We sow seeds, we set things in motion, and we might never get to see it come to fruition.

So I cannot tell you how it all ends, because I am yet to see the end myself. Or as close to it as I will be allowed to come.

But yes, some things I do know.

I know that I - of course - healed the injuries left by the fire on Jarvis' face as well. The old butler was grateful, but I sensed that he was even more grateful for the way I had helped his master back to life. And he is still following his master, loyal as ever. I believe he will follow him for as long as he lives.

Thor, my cousin, did sell Ravenshead, not long after his father was put to rest. With the money he made he moved to the city and returned to the life of decadence he had made for himself. It did not last long. The last thing I heard he had fled the country, hunted by moneylenders. I do not even know if he still lives. Somehow, I hope he does, and that he will find a better way. He _was_ meant for greatness, after all. Perhaps one day, he will be worthy of it.

Frigga continues her work at Starwood, welcoming children with gifts above and beyond the usual, and teaching them with all the love her great heart holds. Just as she taught me. I will love her forever for the gifts she gave me.

Doctor Banner sends her any children he finds in his work, still - although he is yet to agree to let her help him. And no, I still know nothing of the secret he hides. Even after all these years, I have never dared ask, and he has never offered to tell me.

I know that Natasha Romanoff was sent to infiltrate the household and search out all of Edward's secrets by someone else, but who is still shrouded in mystery. Whoever they are have hidden their tracks well, and I suspect they might try again. A part of me hopes that they will, because I would wish for a chance to make them regret touching that which is mine.

Since I left Strife's End, I have never met Steven Rogers again, but I know that his fight for peace in the world has never ended. He still leads his battles from the front line. Ever the true hero. 

I know that, because Buck told me so. I wrote him a letter as soon as I could, to tell him thank you again for all his help, which brought me where I needed to be. He wrote me back, and we have never stopped our correspondance since. A few times he has even come to visit me. And the first time Edward met him, he immediately set to work constructing a mechanical arm to replace the one Buck once lost. It is almost finished, now, and it is a work of art.

And Edward... Mr. Stark. The man I never knew was my equal, my heart, and my life. What do I know of him now? Oh, too much to tell you, surely, because since I found him again, blinded and broken, I have never once left his side. Our days and nights have all been spent in each other's company, working together to rebuild Ironthorn Hall as well as the Arc, sharing our thoughts and dreams alike. And loving each other, with an ardour I never knew before. 

There are still scars in him, however, scars my magic could never reach or mend, and some nights he wakes up screaming, unable to do anything but cling to me when he finds that I am still there. That I have not abandoned him.

Sometimes even his waking moments are not free of these fears, once even overcoming him when he was already in my arms, buried inside me, our bodies as close as they could get. Then he crushed me to his chest, until I gasped with the force of it.

”I thought you lost forever”, Edward whispered by my throat when I tilted my head back, searching for air. 

”I _was_ lost”, I said, feeling him still moving against me, driven by desperation. ”Without you, I was.”

Because I truly had been. No matter how clearly I had been able to see the path in front of me I had still been lost, because what my heart was searching for I had already left behind.

Now I was still free to walk that path. To choose my way as I pleased. Edward never stopped me. Never held me back. He never needed to, because for the most part he walked right beside me. And I was convinced that even if I chose one to walk alone, the path I found to follow into light, any path that made me feel safe and steady on my feet, would always lead me to him.

His breath was a sob on my skin, and I thought I could feel his hot tears against my throat. I couldn't fault him for crying, because I knew tears were running down my own temples, wetting my hair.

Then pleasure at last swallowed us both whole, and we knew nothing else.


End file.
